Purgatory
by Zerbinetta
Summary: FINISHED 21st October 2005: Her illusions shattered as there is a choice between Heaven and Hell, three souls recall entering Purgatory. Told from several POV. From Christine´s arrival to the Opera to after the Point of No Return.
1. Prologue

**Author's notes:** Okay, this is my first PoTO phic, so be gentle, please! I just had to get this out of my head, at least partially. Based mostly on ALW´s story. All the things you recognize belong to ALW and Gaston Leroux, so no, I don't own anything.

X X X

It is said that in moments of crisis, in life-or-death situations, one can see their whole life replayed in front of their eyes. I never truly believed it – I, who had believed in so many childish fantasies and fairy-tales. I, who became so consumed by my daydreaming that my fantasies became reality… the dream began… only to end in a nightmare.

There I stood, facing the point of no return – the final threshold, just as he wrote in his song. No going back now, as I have sung mere minutes ago. After this, the life I knew before would be over… and the woman…no, the girl I was until now would cease to exist, leaving room for a woman to be born. Tonight, I would burn all bridges and embrace the future. I knew it before I even began singing my first lines in the passionate opera that stunned and mesmerized all of Paris.

But even in my wildest dreams had it not occurred to me that this would happen. That the choice I had tried running from would be forced upon me… and that I would have only a few minutes, at best, to decide which path to take.

It seems so easy to you when you are a child – life or death, good or evil, dark or light… it seems that there is no way you can make the wrong decision. How could you? There is no decision to make, if all you believe in is that good must triumph.

Triumph… no matter what I could try to persuade myself to believe, the line that reached my ears was the only truth that I have heard tonight.

_For every choice you make, he has to win._

Yes, he had already won – it didn't matter what I would choose. When I looked at him, I could see the feeling of triumph in his eyes. The eagerness with which he was awaiting my decision. Even if he would have to be the Angel of Death tonight, he would still be triumphant.

The statement that I hated him now… it came from my mouth so naturally, so easily. I wanted to make him see that I was suffering and make him suffer, knowing that my words would cause him much more pain than anything physical. But in my mind, I knew he wouldn't care that I was suffering. And he wouldn´t care about his own pain anymore, either. Not now. Not when he had me cornered. When he had me right where he wanted me to be.

It would be so easy to hate him for all he had done to me.

A thousand lies he told me. A thousand promises of guidance, aid. The man whose name I did not know… who I knew simply as my Angel, my own Angel of Music… but whom the rest of the world (or, at least, the rest of his domain) knew as the Phantom of the Opera.

The genius who managed to create music so sad and yet stunning that even those who feared him had to stop and listen to the sound of his violin. The one who would blackmail the managers and make them do anything by sending them simple notes written in red ink, with his well-known signature – O.G. The Angel my father had sent me. The demon sent to punish me for betraying that Angel twice… twice had I betrayed him and still he came back, using everything at his disposal to win my affection!

And the man who was obsessed with me… who perhaps, just perhaps, loved me.

Now I had no idea how to feel about him, let alone what to call him. The Angel of Music! What a simple lie that so easily ensnared the mind of an ingénue! How easily he manipulated me, used me to his own ends. He wanted to create the perfect opera with the perfect Prima Donna. But in the end, he fell into the trap I had so unconsciously set up. The trap of emotions. I was so trusting, so naïve. He must have been amused, at first, that I would share my secrets with someone I had never seen, someone who simply claimed to be the Angel sent by my poor father.

But since my father's death, I was like a ghost myself, lost in dreams, not caring about the world. It was my praying that had called me, when he had first heard my voice singing soft prayers for my father. From then, he had been my guide and guardian. Only recently had I discovered that his caring had grown beyond what I had expected, that he no longer saw me as a pupil or a child, even when he called me one.

He called me his angel, the only light in his life. He brought me to his home, treating me like a queen. And I, captivated and ensnared, failed to notice that the innocent love of a father and daughter was not enough for him. I failed to notice the longing in his eyes, for all I saw was the splendor of night and its music. _His _music.

Words can never describe that music. At times, it is soft and enchanting, like the night sky with a zillion stars, tender and captivating. And then there was _Don Juan_, with the passion of a blazing inferno, burning… but not touched by fire of heaven, as he had once told me.

Was it simply the music that drew me to this man, who was hiding behind more than just the white mask? Who had build walls of stone around him to protect him from the cruelty of the world, but breached them for me? Was it the heavenly voice that made me believe in miracles… or was it the man who sung so divinely? I was dreading the answer all these months I spent away from the Opera.

I was the one who betrayed him, who broke my promises! And he seemed to forgive each and every betrayal, each time I must have broken his heart. But not anymore. I watched helplessly as the noose around my fiancé's neck tightened once again. My fiancé…

How perfect life could have been, had I met Raoul again before all this. A life without night, without fear, without Angels who came from the night, without… without music. There would be no music in my life, should I choose Raoul. There would be no singing for me, should I become a de Chagny.

Raoul meant daylight, safety. I would have nothing to fear – he would hold me and guide me as a loving husband and as a friend, for he knew that there still was a bit of Little Lotte within me. We could once again tell each other the stories of the North! But he would never allow me to sing, even if it wouldn't be a social scandal. He would ask me to forget all this and move on, to never journey into the night again. I would be safe.

Safe and forever away from music – the only thing that mattered after my father's death. The only thing that kept me sane and alive. My art. The heat that rushed through my veins as I felt I was getting lost in my role, becoming the person. The pride I felt when the audience threw flowers at my feet, applauded and compared me, of all people, to an angel.

Raoul had told me I would have anything I wished, anything that I would like he would give me. But he would never fulfill that promise. He would never give me music.

But how egoistic I was, thinking about this! His life was at stake! I was to be the judge… and the executioner was eager to carry out his duty, his hands almost shaking with anticipation!

Begging was useless now, I knew it. I knew it even as Raoul shouted at me to rather let him be killed than condemn myself to an unending night. I knew it when _he_ declared, almost calmly, that there was no return from this. And, most of all, I knew it when I felt hot tears on my cheeks as I cried to him that he had deceived me, that I had given my mind blindly… as he snarled that I was to make my choice and not try his patience.

Part of me wanted to mouth to Raoul that I loved him, no matter what I was going to do now. Part of me wanted to beg again, to cry out that this torment was too much for anyone to endure. But nothing could now make a heart of stone show compassion or pity. I knew there was nothing that could prevent me from making a dreadful choice. A choice I was not prepared to make.

I took a deep breath, mustering all of my strength and courage. God knows I had so little of both right now. Especially if I would now find out something that I dreaded from the beginning of this tragedy. That even as I snarled words of hate at the man who had worshipped me even when I was nothing but a chorus girl, the hate was nothing more than a form of passion… as was love. As was fear. Damn him for being right when he said that fear can turn to love! Damn him for… for giving me so much hope, then shattering it… for stealing my soul, dominating my mind and ripping out my heart as he tried to steal it. Damn him for being right. I was just a helpless child... and my voice was weak as I spoke.

"Pitiful creature of darkness…" For the first time ever, it seemed that our roles had been switched – it was he who seemed to want to avoid my gaze, yet was unable to do so. "What kind of life have you known?" It was something I would wish to know. Who was the shape in the shadows of the Opera? Who was the masked angel who burned in Hell for the sins of others – for their hate, for their inability to see what lied beneath the surface? My voice gained some unnamed emotion as I finally approached him. "God give me courage to show you… you are not alone!"

I was no longer forcing myself into calmness, I was no longer pushing back hatred… for there was none. I could feel it. Where the others saw a monster, a living corpse, I saw the most beautiful of angels, misguided by his lack of knowledge of right and wrong, his only sin his yearning for love. And I had to show him that there was someone in the world who cared about his fate, who was willing to give him at least a glimpse of love, even though she had promised her heart to another man.

In those short moments, short even though they seem to last an eternity, since my eyes never left his and I never stopped trying to read his emotions, in the moments when I approached him and touched his face, I almost saw my life in the Opera and the people who had affected it. But as I captured his lips with mine, I couldn't help but return to the moments long gone, the moments I now wished were different. The days of joy, of laughter, of light…

But, above all else, the days when I was blessed by being the only human that could get a small glimpse of Heaven. The days when my soul was dominated by the music of the night.

X X X

**A/N:** Review and tell me if you want this to continue… and how you want it to continue. I was thinking of either rewriting the entire musical/film from Christine´s POV or continuing this scene from her POV.


	2. Chapter 1: Wandering Child

**Author's notes: **The encouragement (and some suspicious notes written in red ink threatening to "Punjab" me if I wouldn't continue… hmm… who could have sent that?) forced me to continue… so, here you go – I decided to start at Christine's arrival at the Opera, from her POV. Review and tell me if I should do Erik's POV next or continue to be everybody's favorite ingénue. I was actually worried I portrayed her as too strong-willed, but hey – crisis strengthens people. That's a known fact. .

**longblacksatinlace** – I don't like le Fop, but I'll try to write a good reaction to that scene, even if I'll add it later on. I'll get back to that, don't worry.

**EriksIngenue** – I was thinking that too, actually. This chapter is still from Christine's POV, I might switch to Erik's POV in the next… I'm not sure yet. Many thanks.

**Miss Daae** – Heh, empathy is my strong side, I guess – I had a bit of a knack for putting myself into other people's shoes. Especially when I would have liked to make a different choice than them. If only you could change the ending of the musical when you'll be un-stage, huh? Congrats for getting the part, I wish I were in your shoes now ;-)

**kayadcpandora** – (takes a bow) My first phanfic, to be exact. But thanks – praise is always appreciated. Okay, okay, I'm updating, I really am!

**pheebe the anonomus comentor** – that was the most positive reaction to any of my fanfics, and for that, I thank you. I suppose empathy is my thing. I think the movie helped me see that she really loved Erik… the last scene, actually, when Raoul finds the rose and the ring on Christine's grave. It's the moment when I think he realized that he made one big mistake in separating Erik and Christine… ah, true love denied! What a tragedy… they were perfect for each other… (goes looking for her handkerchief)

**broadwaydreams4ever**** – **I was thinking of switching to Erik's POV next, so tell me what you think. Many thanks & read on.

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_Part I: Heaven _

X X X

**Chapter 1 – Wandering Child **

X X X X

"I am Christine Daaé, Madame."

It was the day I had been awaiting and dreading. Madame Giry, God bless her for being so kind to me, was to bring me to a new home – a home without painful memories, without more silent tears.

As always (though I found that out much later) the ballet mistress wore one of her plain dresses, this one of an olive-green color and a bonnet, her hair trapped in a tight bun. An air of strictness hung around her and I knew at once this wasn't someone you would want to displease.

"A pleasure, my dear." She said, but the kindness of her tone simply couldn't find its way to her face. "Your father had arranged everything for you, as you might already know. Are you ready – everything packed?"

"Yes, Madame." I nodded meekly.

"Do not fear, child – pain passes in time. But we will miss our carriage! Hurry!" she grasped my hand firmly, picking up my small suitcase with her left hand and led me away from the house that was no longer my home.

Even if Madame Giry had tried talking to me during the ride (which, for the record, she did not), she would likely have received no reply other than silence. I was too lost in memories of happiness and dreams. My only link to my father was now my voice… the voice that had lost all strength after his death. And then there was the Angel of Music. God knows just how much I wanted to believe in the promise Father made.

In the distance, even though my sight was slightly clouded due to the daydreaming, the Opera Populaire had begun taking shape, easily distinguishable among the ordinary houses with its baroque exterior and the light coming from it, surrounding it.

The carriage came to a halt and before I knew it, we were inside. I drifted like a shadow behind Madame Giry, who seemed to know every corner of the Opera. She led me upstairs, to the less glamorous part of the Opera, where the young chorus girls and the corps de ballet resided. As soon as Madame Giry showed me my bed, the door to the dormitories opened again and a small girl, probably my age, hopped in.

Madame Giry noticed her immediately, her frown softening for a moment. "Christine, this is my daughter, Meg Giry. Meg, this is Christine Daaé – she will be joining the chorus." She glanced at her watch and sighed, "I must go, children." And without further explanation, she disappeared, leaving Meg and myself in an uncomfortable but short-lasting silence.

"So, Christine – do you like the Opera so far?" Meg asked, the question that all of the Opera's employees probably asked outsiders or newcomers.

"I haven't seen much of it yet, but I am happy to be here." Was my truthful reply. Really, Father had told me so much about the famous Paris Opera House… if he were with me, I would probably be completely overjoyed to be here now.

"Well, wait till the season starts in a few days!" Meg said, failing miserably at a grim tone. She seemed too excited to be dramatic. "Maman is the strictest person in the world and does everything in her power to make us as perfect as we can be. Even if that means hours of practice and dozens of broken ankles." The cheerfulness of her tone unsettled me slightly. Meg seemed to be a very social person, but to be happy about injuries…

"And that's why you're jittering on the spot?" I asked with a small smile as Meg realized that she was indeed jittering and stopped… for a few seconds.

"No, that's not the reason." she grinned slightly, "Another sighting of the Ghost! Or at least, that's what Jammes told me… but with the Ghost, you can never know!"

I was confused now – in childish tales, I had heard of haunted houses… but operas? And why was Meg so happy – was "ghost-sighting" some kind of sport here?

"I'm not sure I understand, Meg." I confessed.

The blonde slapped her forehead, smiling at her own mistake. "Sorry, I forgot you're new here! You don't know about the Opera Ghost!" When I shook my head, she quickly continued.

"It's like this – there's a ghost haunting this opera. But not just any ordinary ghost! The managers pay him a huge salary each month and Box Five is constantly reserved… for him! He comes to all the galas and premieres and sometimes leaves a note for the managers behind, I think. The girls get carried away sometimes and see him everywhere… well, no one sees the Ghost unless the Ghost wishes to be seen… but I think more than one saw him, so it could have been him!"

I had to hold back a smile. It appeared I had found a soulmate. I believed in angels just as much as Meg believed in ghosts. So I wasn't about to question this ghost's existence… yet. But it seemed to me that it was more of a figment of the ballet girls´ overly active imaginations than something to be taken too seriously.

"But I should go – Ma will surely kill me if I'm not at practice on time and last I checked, I had only half an hour!" Meg squealed, "Perhaps I'm already late! I'll see you later, Christine!"

"Meg, wait!" I managed to stop her just in time. "I just wanted to ask… do you have a chapel here?" She nodded. "Could you tell me where it is?"

"I can do better – I'll take you there. It's along the way, fortunately. But we'll have to run, or else Ma will have my head." And she took off.

How she was able to run so fast in her ballet shoes and costume, I had no idea. But I really had to sprint to keep up with her. When we arrived at our destination, Meg quickly said she would be back to see if I had found my way back upstairs and dashed away once more.

My smile faded slightly as I gazed at the long-melted candles in the chapel. I sat down and took out the only picture of my father I had – it was small, but therefore easy to transport. It was like a talisman to me now. I began to feel tears forming in my eyes as I gazed upon it.

Unable to look anymore without crying, I placed it in a small alcove, near the candles. I lit one of them, coincidently the only undamaged, intact one. I took this as a sign that I was right to come down here.

Now, even though surrounded by darkness, which frightened me, I could remain calm enough to open my mouth and quietly pray, singing, as my father had taught me. I prayed to God, to my father, begging for the Angel he had promised me.

I had no idea I would soon learn to be careful what I wish for.


	3. Chapter 2: Messenger

**Author's notes**: Next chapter, a bit longer than the last one. Review, please! Oh, and the remakes of the lyrics of 'Angel of Music' are mine. The song itself isn't… unfortunately.

**EriksIngenue** – I guess I'll stick with Christine, I can relate to her pretty easily.

**Anonymous VoS fan** – I haven't given up on the fic, I just had a brief writer's block. It will be updated, but you have to accept the fact I like other things as well, PotO being one of them.

X X X

**Chapter 2 – Messenger **

X X X

_Step. Two. Three. Four. Spin. Repeat._

The majority of my thoughts in the following days consisted of those words. Dancing, while glamorous when you're watching it, is completely different when you're actually doing it. It's a mix of counting steps, memorized moves and attempts at grace, all mixed and done at the same time. Certainly nothing easy… at least for a beginner such as myself.

Fortunately, Meg had proven a faithful friend and gave me some extra lessons. I have no idea how I would have gotten past the basics without her patience, which, despite her sometimes slightly hyper nature, seemed everlasting.

"Your feet are too far away from each other, Christine." She noted when I finished the first part of the simple dance that was part of today's training. "Try to focus a bit more."

I was already classified as a dreamer. Actually, it took mere hours for me to be classified, from the moment since I had entered the Opera house. The ballet girls were friendly, loved gossip and were obviously a bit too girly, even for their age.

Oh, and, naturally, none of them ever missed any discussion concerning the Opera Ghost.

I myself was more fascinated by the fact that _everyone_ seemed to believe in the Phantom's existence with absolute certainty. Even Madame Giry, who I learned was the one who sometimes delivered his notes to the managers, seemed to smile ever-so-slightly whenever she overheard the girls talking. I could never quite place that smile.

It was so slight, you could easily miss it, if you didn't look carefully. What emotion was behind it? _What _was behind it? No one knew, that I was certain. And asking Madame Giry about it wouldn't give me any answers, that was another fact. Puzzled as I was, I couldn't help but smile as well.

If this was all a joke, if the notes were fake and all this was just a grand illusion that the Opera had fallen prey to, then the joker was more than clever. And if it was not (though only a small part of me considered that possibility), then the ghost had his own sense of humor.

Especially when something angered him, or, more often, irritated him, since he seemed to have trained the managers to obey his every command.

I was still upset about my father's death to concern myself with this too much, though, and continued to live in my own little world, barely noticing the events around me. Except when it came to ballet practice. I wanted Father to be proud of me. If I could not fulfill his wish and be a Prima Donna, perhaps becoming a solo dancer would be enough to make it up to him.

I shifted my feet closer to each other and tried again.

Meg nodded, "Good, you learn quickly. But you have to stop mouthing the counting." she smiled mischievously, "You look like a fish."

"Fish can't dance." I retorted, childishly enough for my age.

"Well, it is kind of difficult to do this without feet."

We both giggled at our own childishness, but Meg quickly resumed acting the ballet mistress, which, for the record, was a role she seemed to be enjoying. I couldn't really blame her, though. She had told me that her mother was strict when it comes to training the corps de ballet, but even worse when it came to training her own daughter.

Now, a much younger Giry was trying to turn a novice into a chorus girl. I smiled a bit at the glint in her eyes. Younger or not, Meg was a Giry – she could mimic her mother's glances almost perfectly and she was doing it subconsciously.

"But really, you need to stop doing that. It would look very strange on stage."

"I might trip over my own feet before I get on stage, so counting the steps is the thing I am worried about the least."

"Don't underestimate yourself. You just need to get your head back to the earth sometimes." she frowned, concerned, "I know it must be hard for you now, but you need to move on someday, Christine. Ma was heartbroken when Papa died, too, I can remember that much, but she has devoted herself to something. That allowed her to move on, I think." she shrugged, "Well, I wouldn't know, really – I was just a baby back then."

A weary, sad smile found its way to my face. She was right. Again, I remembered how my Father wanted only the best for me. It was hard to start a new life from nothing, but even harder to start from the shattered remains of an old life.

But… maybe if I confided in someone, it would be easier. I would be rid of part of the burden and I would be able to satisfy Meg´s curiosity about my past. After that, I wouldn't need to think about it anymore. It would be a read and closed chapter of my life. And I would be able to proceed to a new blank page.

I took a deep breath, a sound like a sigh finding its way from my throat. "My father… he wouldn't want me to mourn. But I have lost everything, Meg. Everything. Father was the only family I had left."

Meg smiled, "Not anymore. We can be your family – I'm sure Ma won't mind. And I'd love to have a sister."

"Yes, that would be lovely." And it would… could… help me forget… at least until the wound would heal. "I remember the stories my father had told me, of the North. I can tell you some of those, if you like. They are mostly fairy tales, but each of them is wonderful. And I doubt that you hear many tales of Sweden here in Paris." Meg shook her head, listening carefully. "I had been there, when I was very little. I don't remember images, only feelings. But it was my home, for a time."

"The countryside must be nice, compared to the dust and smoke of the city."

I nodded, "I loved it very much. And Father would always play the violin until I fell asleep… telling me my favorite story – the one about the Angel of Music."

"The Angel of Music?" she frowned.

"That is the only true story of the tales of the North." Nostalgia was slowly creeping into my voice. It was almost as if I had forgotten about Meg, the Opera, Father's death… I was dreaming, even as I sang.

_Father once spoke of an Angel _

_I always dream he'd appear… _

_And as I sing, I keep hoping_

_That he's somehow near! _

_Here, in this room, calling me softly _

_Somewhere inside, hiding…_

_Father had promised he´d send him to me_

_A messenger of Heaven _

_Angel of Music! _

_Guide and guardian! _

_Grant to me your glory! _

_Angel of Music! _

_Now I ponder _

_Where are you _

_my Angel?_

My gaze regained focus and I noticed I had been staring at a random piece of the wall for all this time. I glanced at Meg, who was motionless and silent, like a cat, and eyes equally wide.

"You have a wonderful voice! Why do you waste time learning to dance? You can be part of the main chorus, not a ballet girl, with a voice like that!"

I shook my head no, "I cannot. Father said that to become a singer, you need three t-s: time, training and talent. And I have none of those."

"You need a fourth t: a teacher." Meg insisted, "That's all."

"Father promised me…" I whispered, not really noticing what I was saying. "'When I am in Heaven, child, I will send you the Angel of Music.'"

But my trance didn't last long enough to give Meg time to give me too many reasons why to sing. After insisting again that I would not sing and persuading Meg to keep my secret (at least for a time), I went, as I always did, to the chapel, kneeling in front of the candles.

I gazed upon the glass Angel in front of me, silently. After all that had happened, I still believed in the Angel of Music. I trusted my father more than anyone in the whole world. He would not lie to me. He knew how much I believed in him.

_Angel of Music…_

_All I ask for_

_Is your watchful guidance…_

_Angel of Music…_

_Please come to me_

_Bless me with your presence…_

I sang softly, my eyes still fixed on the painted Angel. Distracted as I was, I didn't sense the gaze of two golden orbs, or the carefully hidden shadow.

Only when I lit yet another candle did I hear the soft echo of singing, a divine sound I was sure must be a dream. That illusion was shattered the moment I heard the words.

_Wandering child, do not falter_

_Heaven has answered your prayers…_

_Sing to the Angel of Music_

_You have drawn his gaze!_

The unlit candle I had been holding dropped to the floor softly, but I couldn't care less. The voice... such a voice could never belong to a mortal. Its softness was combined with a strange sorrow, but yet it wasn´t mourning. The mere sound was entrancing, enchanting. And, for all its gentleness, it also held a power that could never be put to words. I couldn't breathe, think or move.But I began breathing, at least, because I knew I couldn't sing without air in my lungs.

_Angel, I hear you!_

_Speak, I listen_

_Stay by my side_

_Guide me…_

The smile, so full of hope, that appeared on my lips, must have been the reason why a slight silence followed. But any fears were unfounded as a soft echo reached me.

_Christine… _


	4. Chapter 3: Blossoming

**Author's notes:** I've just finished reading "Phantom" by Susan Kay and I'm really amazed. Few books have had such an effect on me – this one almost brought me to tears. I'm considering doing a one-shot AU fic based on it, where Christine doesn't get the message from Raoul and goes looking for Erik – and hears the quote in this chapter (that was the moment when I really had to fetch my tissues). What do you think?

Anyway, I hope I did Erik justice in this chapter. He is tough to write, with all that temper. And if there was any point in the fic where I could switch to his POV, I think it's now. So tell me if I should change the POV – this is your last chance to choose.

**Enrinye** – So nice of you to drop a word, Z.! ;-) I didn't think you were reading the fic… but thanks for the praise. You'll have to tell me what you think about this one and if it was better than the concept I showed you.

**EriksIngenue** – (background voices) He's here – the Phantom of the Opera! Beware - the Phantom of the Opera!

**Mina** – Captivated already? I didn't even have Erik start singing Music of the Night yet! Heh. Thanks and read on.

**Gypsy** – Thanks, thanks, thanks. :-) I try hard… here you go.

X X X

"Please, God, let her love me and I promise to be good forever..."

_Erik_

X X X

**Chapter 3 – Blossoming**

X X X X

_Christine..._

My smile widened – I was now fully assured that the voice was real, that it wasn't just my wish to hear words of comfort that created the blissful illusion in my mind.

But… what if all this was just a dream? What if I would suddenly wake up, facing once again the grayish world of reality, where Angels remained in Heaven and we, the pitiful mortals, were condemned to life without any real light?

"If this is a dream… I do not wish to wake up…" I hardly even realized that the wish came from my lips, a soft whisper that left no echo in the chapel.

But the Angel heard it.

"Then let the dream begin, Christine." Echoed the voice, the voice far, far too beautiful to be anything created by man. The voice that already held more power over me than I would dare admit. "This dream shall not end… unless you wish it to." The edge of sadness I registered almost destroyed me.

"No!" I hurriedly exclaimed, fear claiming my senses. Whatever it would take to do to make my unseen companion remain with me, I would do. "I will do what you wish, Angel, but please do not leave me here alone… do not leave me in the darkness… I would surely die if I wouldn't hear your voice again!"

It was a childish statement, I knew that now, but I was but a helpless child, clinging to the only star, brighter than the sun, which had suddenly appeared on my darkened sky. And now it was threatening to disappear again, as quickly as it came, threatening to remain but a memory.

I could never, ever, allow that. Not now, now that my belief in God's mercy had been restored. Childish as my words were, they were true.

"I wish you to sing, Christine." The Angel noted after tormenting me with a moment of silence. He wanted to see if I was dedicated enough to hold my promise… and what he saw confirmed his theories and gave him a reason to continue. "I will teach you and, in time, you will fulfill your father's wish." I heard a smile in his voice, as if he were saying the obvious, being the Angel of Music, and with each word, the hint of a promise came closer to a vow.

It didn't surprise me that he knew about my father and my grief. An all-seeing Angel he was, he knew all there was to know about me. Disbelief and doubt were farthest from my mind.

"But you shall have to listen to my guidance, or you will never hear me again. Whatever you have been given can also be withdrawn. Your voice has reached me, child, but should you disobey me, I shall have to find a new student." Much of the voice's fatherly nature disappeared, leaving place for the commanding voice of an emperor, putting just enough authority into his words to frighten his servants and yet inspire belief.

But the mind of a child needed no more augmenting.

"You will never have to do that." That was my vow, my promise to him. I would be an obedient student, to please my father and my Angel… I would do all my Angel would ask of me. A child would know no better than an Angel, therefore I had no reason to lie.

"Very well, little nightingale. I will help your voice take wings." Somewhere inside my mind, I knew, just as he surely did, that my soul was already soaring with hope. "You must come to this chapel every day after your rehearsals."

"How will you know when that it?" It was stupid of me to ask – I had forgotten for a moment who I was speaking with.

And yet he didn't laugh, merely dismissed the question. "Do not concern yourself with that, child. I shall never let you out of my sight… and when you come and I am not here, delayed by my heavenly duties, simply call to me, as you have today. But do not sing for others, not yet. Surely you have understood by now that you must not tell anyone of these lessons, Christine. Mortals wouldn't be able to understand. The souls that reside here are unworthy of witnessing your song. They would throw away the sleeping bud and keep the quickly-dying blooms that they see here every day, even if the weeds could never reach beauty, let alone splendor."

I wanted to smile – it seemed my Angel was every bit the poet and knew how to encourage me, even with metaphors. But I had to ask – could a never-blossoming bud do what the "weeds" could not? Could a little chorus girl do what prima donnas could never accomplish?

How mature that sounded, compared to my usual chatter. But it seemed to amuse the Angel, for quiet laughter, which, to my ears was like the sound of the softest silver bells, reached me.

"Did I not promise you guidance? Look into the alcove to your left - you shall see yourself in a mirror, my dear."

Puzzled as I was, knowing there was no mirror in the chapel, I obeyed, natural curiosity taking over. The alcove of stone was simple and cold… but in it lay something that could not have been there moments ago, proof of the Angel's words and power in one, if anyone would need any.

There, beautiful in its simplicity, lay a single blood red rose, decorated only by a silky-smooth satin ribbon, for a reason which I could not yet perceive, black as the night.

"Soon, mon rosé, you shall no longer fear the dark."

And then, accompanied by the sweet sound of a violin, tremulous and tender, my Angel sang to me for the first time. Only now did I truly understand what bliss meant, losing myself in the flawless divine voice that would break the coldest of hearts, bring the cruelest of the human race to tears.

Emotions surrounded me. Sadness that had been the core of my heart was evaporating from the voice, because the Angel of Music, the Angel of Darkness, was no longer alone.

The gentle words of his song, each syllable, each letter radiated a pure, innocent caring – a love untouched by the spoils of the world, a love that was, just as he had said about me, still a sleeping bud.

Neither of us knew what agony, what sorrow, what… utter bliss… lied in store for us, how horribly beautiful that bloom would be.

There was nothing in the world right now, only music and two lost souls, perhaps two halves of one soul that had finally, after countless cruel tricks of fate, found each other.


	5. Chapter 4: Queen of the Night

**Author's notes:** And we finally get to the PoTO storyline! Mwahahaha!

The title is from Mozart, if you didn't guess….

Aww, "Meant To Be" was such a success! Thanks to everyone who reviewed (or will review soon enough)! I'll do more phics, I promise. I already have a very AU storyline ready, but I guess it won't be from Christine's (or anyone's) POV. It's gonna be long, though, but I promise it'll be worth the wait!

**longblacksatinlace** – heh, here you go. Enjoy.

**Enrinye** – yeah, I hope "kukatko" is proud of me. His opinion matters greatly… you know why! ;-)))))

**erikfan** – Here you go!

**EriksIngenue** – What girl in her right mind would care? Thanks and read on.

X X X

**Chapter 4 – Queen of the Night **

X X X X

The following years – a decade of joy! – seem to be a blur of learning all about being a ballerina, growing closer to the world of the Opera and meetings with my Angel.

By the time I was twelve, I was one of the more prominent dancers of the corps de ballet, with my own dressing room, a remote but beautiful kingdom of paintings and fine furniture. But the dominant "feature" of the room was without a doubt the large mirror on my wall. It seemed almost too splendorous for the small room, but I certainly wasn't complaining.

Compared to the rest of the dressing rooms, this was a palace – fortunately for me, when I was moving from the common dressing rooms, there seemed to be no other available rooms. All were occupied or "haunted".

Once I moved in, the Angel of Music suggested we move the lessons to my dressing room – in the chapel, you never knew when someone would walk right in. It never happened (fortunately), mostly because the lessons were quite late. Now we could start earlier… and that was an appealing idea. Not because of the harsh schedule of the ballet rats. Because it meant I would be in the company of my Angel for longer.

Over the years, even though I befriended many of the Opera's workers, the Angel continued to be my closest companion. Strange, really, that I never pried more than I thought civil about his world, since he so patiently learned all about mine, my dreams and fears, listened to the trivial troubles of an average child, never showing any sign of boredom or irritation.

The lessons were different, however. Because he knew my voice far better than I did, he would always push me to what I thought was the limit of my abilities. Praise came scarcely – even his approval was a reward. His voice, his presence was my reward. I was the richest girl in the world.

His rules were strict, but also reasonable. I could sometimes sense changes in my voice, even as I tried to keep it quiet and unnoticed, for the first and foremost rule was to keep my… talent… hidden.

"All things in time, Christine." He would say to any question involving bypassing rules or information about him. And such questions became more and more scarce.

I was sixteen when the Angel said that I would soon be ready to star on the stage. By then, he would give me whole operas to learn, starting with minor parts, moving to the main roles. My current part was that of Elissa, queen of Carthage in the opera Hannibal, which was also the current production.

The opening gala night was only days away. While my Angel gave me the lead role when I sang for him, chances of truly singing it in front of the whole city were small.

For five seasons now, we had a permanent Prima Donna. And I often understood why the elderly women here would recommend earplugs to everyone who had the "privilege" of hearing her voice. Carlotta, while possessing some raw talent, had the ego of at least ten Prima Donnas combined, so she would never allow a singing teacher near her. Maybe that was why she never knew her high-pitched soprano voice sounded like a scream, at best. At worst, it was an echoing scream.

I had just finished dressing and fixing my now waist-long mahogany hair into golden clasps – all the outfits were golden, at least in this particular scene, but the slave girl costumes were meant to make us look simple yet seductive, the gold symbolizing mostly manacles and chains. While I liked ballet outfits because I could run without tripping over my skirts, this outfit was far more… revealing… than we normally wore. I couldn't decide whether I looked like some Egyptian courtesan or a princess preparing for a bath. Perhaps both, depending on where such a dress would be worn.

A breeze swept through my windowless room – I couldn't hold back a smile of joy. He was here. I could sense it, I was sure of it.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory…" I sang softly, looking around, even though I knew he wouldn't appear in physical form.

But I got the response I was waiting for. "I am here, child."

"Is something wrong? I thought we postponed the lesson today – you said you had something very important to do and then they said we'd have an extra rehearsal today…"

"Lefévre is leaving, Christine. He will bring his successors to the rehearsal today." He noted, with some degree of irritation. I knew that that would probably mess up the whole schedule, so I understood his concern. "But, more importantly, I have decided you are ready to bring Paris to her knees." My eyes widened with both confusion and excitement. "You must be ready to sing in Carlotta´s place today."

"But…" I never got a chance to object.

"You know the words, Christine." It wasn't a question, but I nodded obediently nonetheless. "I shall be watching the rehearsal closely."

"But Carlotta isn't ill. She will be singing." I quickly said, so I would get an answer to the unsaid question – how in the world was he going to remove her from the stage?

"You will be singing Elissa, Christine." Who the dangerous commitment in that simple sentence was directed to, I didn't know. Suffice it say it put me in my place.

I lowered my gaze to my feet. "I apologize, Angel – please forgive me. Who am I to doubt you?"

"I can understand, child." He said softly, almost fatherly. "But you must trust me."

"I do, Angel." My truthful reply seemed to ease the tension. The next words slipped from my mouth without any thought. "All I wish is that you would trust me too."

We have debated this before – thus, he knew what I was getting at. I was expecting refusal… but not in the form it came.

"Soon, my angel. But now go and await your moment of triumph."

The smile on my face reappeared for various reasons. Relief, confidence… and, certainly not least, because it was the first time he had called me his angel. And from the Angel of Music, that was without a doubt the highest praise.

"Christine." I turned back from the door – I was about to walk out, but I looked up again. "A word of warning – don't stand near our resident Spanish disaster today."

I nodded, though I was unsure what he meant by that, thanked the Angel and soon ran into the rest of the chattering ballet rats.

X X X

One of the things about Carlotta that I never understood was why people worshipped her so when they couldn't understand what she was actually singing. Her voice was always so high-pitched, I could never make out the lyrics.

I knew "Think of Me" by heart – it was the most wonderful song about love, partings and memories. But since she was supposed to sing it for Piangi, who, while always polite to everyone and generally nice, was hardly Don Juan, I suppose it was understandable why it was such a disaster. Remembering the rumors about him and Carlotta, however, I dismissed that thought. How could it be so horrible when she was singing it to someone she was supposed to love?

The dancing was put to a halt as Lefévre and the new managers arrived, much to the irritation of Monsieur Reyér and Madame Giry, who was trying to round us up. I wasn't really paying much attention – I knew enough from my Angel. But it seemed there was one more new thing – a new patron.

"The Vicomte de Chagny." The new managers announced, my breath catching in my throat at the sound of the name and the sight of…

"Raoul…" I couldn't help whisper. Despite the years I had not seen him, it was without a doubt my childhood sweetheart, the only person who called me Little Lotte, as I quickly whispered to Meg.

"Christine, he's so handsome!" she whispered back, glancing at him again.

Yes, Raoul was no longer the shy little boy who rescued my scarf from the sea. He was now a young man, handsome and proud, but he paid no heed to the hungry stares of the ballet rats, saying only a polite hello to both Piangi and Carlotta.

"I shall be here tonight to witness your triumph." He said after apologizing for interrupting the rehearsal. I smiled as he was walked towards me… but my smile faded as he passed me without any sign of recognition.

Meg seemed surprised, but I simply shook my head. "He wouldn't recognize me." And that was true. I had changed – I was no longer small. Come to think of it, compared to most girls, I was quite tall. My hair had changed a bit, my features were no longer those of a smiling child.

"He didn't see you!" Meg insisted, trying to lift my spirits, unsuccessfully.

But in a moment, we were supposed to start dancing, so I lost myself in the moves. _Step. Two. Three. Drop. Step. Jump._

"We are particularly proud of our ballet, Monsieurs." I heard Madame Giry saying as she and the new managers walked past us.

"I see why. It's very good." One of the two men noted. "Especially that blonde angel."

I couldn't stop to see who he was talking about, but Madame Giry was quick to inform both of us. "My daughter, Meg Giry." The manager ceased to flatter Meg quickly – it was amusing, really.

"And that exquisite beauty? No relation, I hope." I wasn't sure if that was a joke or not.

"Christine Daaé." An exquisite beauty? Me? "Promising talent, Monsieurs. Most promising." Only my Angel's music could have sounded sweeter to my ears.

The chorus was finishing the song and with the grand arrival of an elephant prop, Piangi stepping on Carlotta´s dress (accompanied by her cursing him for being clumsy) and him failing to get on the elephant's back, I daresay the rehearsal was over.

The managers were satisfied. Carlotta wasn't.

"I vill not be singing!" Was the only thing I heard before she began rambling in Italian, but I understood two words: "Ubaldo! Andiamo!" She was leaving.

"What do we do now?" The two new managers turned to Lefévre.

He smiled nervously. "Grovel. Grovel, grovel, grovel."

Eventually, however, flattering, groveling, begging, they convinced her to stay to sing "Think of Me". Everyone was supposed to stay silent so she could sing the first two bars of the song, thus ruining it for everyone.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_when we've said goodbye_

_Remember me_

_Once in a while_

_please promise me you'll try_

_When you find that once again you long_

_to take your heart back and be free_

I shuddered… but not because of the song. I thought I sensed unseen eyes watching us and I glanced up… and at that exact moment, a large prop collapsed inches from Carlotta´s head.

Meg quickly turned to me. "He's here. The Phantom of the Opera." she said, looking up in hopes of seeing him.

I felt a rush of heat pass through me. I was naïve, true, but I was also a bit skeptical. Wasn't it at least a bit too convenient that the Phantom of the Opera and my Angel of Music could be found in the same building? It was part of the reason I wanted to see the Angel… I wanted to be sure. I wouldn't blame him for anything. I simply wished to know the truth.

"Signora, are you alright? Buquet, for God's sake, man, what is going on up there?" Lefévre asked the chief of flies, who appeared above us. He was one of those who never grew tired of spreading tales of the Phantom.

"Please monsieur don't look at me. As God's my judge, I wasn't at my post. Please monsieur, there's no one there. Or if there is, well then... it must be a ghost." he said dramatically, causing the ballet girls to squeal.

"Signora, these things do happen." The manager – Andre, I think – assured Carlotta, trying to sound jovial.

He obviously knew nothing of the diva's temper. She scowled at him and began with her heavy Italian accent. "For the past three years, "thesethings do happen." And did you stop them from happening? No! And you two!" she pointed at the new managers. "You are as bad as him! "These things do happen."" She growled in frustration. "Until you stop these things from happening, thiss thing does _not_ happen! Ubaldo!" she shouted at Piangi, "Andiamo! Bring my doggy and my... "

The tenor glanced at the new managers with contempt. "Amateurs." And he marched off after Carlotta, obedient little watchdog that he was.

Lefévre exhaled, smiled wearily and noted: "Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." I'm sure he was celebrating inwardly. God knows he was almost driven insane by the Ghost.

The new managers were horrified.

And, all of a sudden Madame Giry appeared, holding an envelope with the infamous seal we all recognized. "I have a message sir, from the Opera Ghost." There was a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Oh, God in Heaven, you're all obsessed."

She ignored Firmin´s sigh and began reading the note. "He welcomes you to his opera house…"

""His" opera house?"

Again, Firmin was ignored. "…and commands that you continue to leave box five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due. "

"His salary?"

Now comes the good part…the money."Monsieur Lefévre used to give him 20,000 francs a month."

This shocked the managers so badly, they were gawping at Madame Giry as if she were insane. "20,000 francs!"

She shrugged slightly. "Perhaps you can afford more with the Vicomte as your patron?"

"Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight when the Vicomte was to join us for the gala. But obviously," to the horror of the cast and crew, he began ripping the Phantom's note to shreds, "we shall now have to cancel as it appears we have lost our star!" And to his fellow manager, "A full house, Andre! We shall have to refund a full house!"

I sensed an arm rest on my shoulder and saw Madame Giry – God knows how she got so close to me so quickly. "Christine Daaé could sing it, Sir." I felt as if a trap door had just opened beneath my feet and I was dropping into an endless abyss. Me?

"What, a chorus girl?" Andre shared my opinion. "Don't be silly."

"Let her sing for you. She has been well taught." Madame Giry persisted.

"By who?"Yes, by who? "I don't know his name, monsieur." I said anxiously. How was I supposed to tell them the story of the Angel of Music? That would make them think I'm insane! And I would be breaking my promise to the Angel!

But the managers summoned me forward nonetheless.

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves."

"Well, she's very pretty."

The silence… the silence was killing me as I stepped forward! I glanced up at the boxes above. The Angel was watching. And I promised to myself I would not disappoint him. As I sang, my thoughts turned to him – it always helped me to think I was singing to him. This was just a normal lesson, no one was watching us. Only the Angel was here – the Angel that required perfection.

And perfection is what he would get.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_when we've said goodbye_

_Remember me_

_once in a while_

_please promise me you'll try_

_When you find_

_that once again you long_

_to take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment_

_spare a thought for me_

_We never said_

_our love was evergreen_

_or as unchanging as the sea_

_But if you can still remember_

_Stop and think of me_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the way things might've been_

_Think of me_

_Think of me waking_

_silent and resigned_

_Imagine me_

_trying too hard_

_to put you from my mind_

_Recall those days_

_Look back on all those times_

_Think of the things we'll never do_

_There will never be a day_

_when I won't think of you!_

_Flowers fade_

_The fruits of summer fade_

_They have their seasons_

_so do we_

_But please promise me that sometimes_

_you will think…_

I raised my voice to its greatest heights as I sang the coloratura. It was the end… the end had to be grand…

_Of me!_

I finished the song, scared of the silence that surrounded me. I glanced at Meg, who was speechless, then at the managers, who had their jaws on the floor. Only Madame Giry was smiling triumphantly. The rest of the Opera was gawping at me.

My gaze dropped to my shoes – was it really that bad? The silence was broken after almost a minute by Firmin´s shout of:

"I want every seamstress in this Opera preparing costumes for our new Elissa immediately!"

Andre smiled almost too eagerly and nodded to me, saying: "Well done, Miss Daaé."

Only when the managers stormed off did the full-scale applause begin.


	6. Chapter 5: Beyond the Mirror

**Author's notes:** Just so you know, I'm listening to Gerard Butler sing "No One Would Listen" as I'm writing this, so I have plenty of inspiration. :-P It's a wonderful song, be sure to search the net for it, the lyrics are very touching and made me remember the wonderful parts of "Phantom" – Erik's monologues.

**Enrinye – **I thought so. Well, you know what I think of Le Fop, but I'll try to describe him as well as I can. "Dancing Queen"? (bursts out laughing) Listening to too much ABBA, are we? Or maybe… McEric & Barbara? (laughs again) I hated those two…

**lady kathrin** – thank you, here you go!

**starnat** – I think that at her grave, seeing the rose, he finally realized that he stood in the way of true love and accepted the fact they belonged together. That was what I liked about Kay's book, actually – Raoul understood this and accepted it.

**Daisy Deertree** – I'll get there, don't worry. Read on!

**EriksIngenue** – Heh, here you go. I think I'm getting the hang of Christine now, don't ya think? P.S. That was a great description of Le Fop!

X X X

**Chapter 5 – Beyond the Mirror**

X X X

The gala was a triumph in every sense of the word.

Again, I sang only for the Angel, thinking of him the whole time. To me, the Opera House was empty that night, only one pair of eyes watching me, one voice silently guiding me. I was deaf to all other sounds, blind to all other sights… only when it was time to take my bows did I regain my senses.

That night, I hoped more than ever that he would have reason to be proud of me.

I hurried to the chapel straight after the curtain fell – I disliked crowds and I was unused to so many people shouting my name and trying to bring me flowers. I knelt in front of the candles, the glass angel and the picture of my father.

_At last, I have fulfilled my promise to you, Papa. _I thought, smiling. _You have sent me the Angel of Music… and tonight, I sang in front of the world. _

_Bravi, bravi, bravissimi… _the wind whispered to me. My gaze rose, my smile directed at the invisible Angel that was in the room with me.

"Christine, Christine!"

_Christine… _

But as I turned around, sensing another presence, I saw only Meg, now dressed in her ballet practice outfit, rushing to me, beaming. I smiled at her, hiding my disappointment.

"Where in the world have you been hiding?" she demanded, and I had to laugh silently. Dear, sweet, Meg. "Really, you were perfect! I only wish I knew your secret – who is this new tutor?" Her question, simple, was something I was unprepared for.

"Meg..." What was I supposed to say but the truth? "When your mother brought me here to live, whenever I came here to light a candle for my father… a voice… from above…" it was hard to explain this to her – she had surely forgotten my stories of the Angel of Music.

It seemed so, judging by her concerned glance. "Christine…" she swallowed, "Do you really believe? Do you really believe that the spirit of your father is coaching you?"

Did I really? "Who else, Meg? Who else? I have told you the story of the Angel of Music once, Meg… the Angel that would guide children's voices to greatness." I glanced at the glassy Angel to my left. "I believe in my Angel. I cannot see him, but… I simply know he's here, always with me, all around me. Calling me softly, somewhere inside, hiding."

We left the chapel together, Meg still muttering to herself who could this Angel of mine possibly be. My hand brushed against her accidentally, but she grasped it firmly in an instance and gasped.

"Your hands are cold!" I looked down, but she raised my chin with her hand, "Your face, Christine – it's white!"

"It frightens me…" I whispered.

"Don't be frightened…" Meg said soothingly, "Perhaps you should go to your dressing room and change – I'll go undo your bed. You need a good night's sleep, you're probably just exhausted and already dreaming." Before I could object, she ran off to the dorms.

I shook my head, but decided it would be a good idea to change. My costume was decorated with setting suns, my hair covered with star-shaped clips. It was exquisite, but the crinoline was a bit heavy (I was used to simple dresses) and the corset was beginning to irritate me.

I slipped into my dressing room, trying to be as subtle as possible. Unfortunately, the crowds noticed me quickly, since they were all trying to get to me, and it took all of Madame Giry´s strength to lock them out of my dressing room. I could still hear her shouting "No!" at them, even as she managed to get the door closed.

She then came to me, smiling motherly. "You did well, my dear." Seemingly from nowhere, she produced a rose. "He is pleased with you." Only then did I notice the black satin ribbon around it… I turned to ask Madame Giry how she got it, but she was already gone.

I sat down at my vanity table, admiring the rose from every angle. Perfectly flawless, as usual, the ribbon tied around it neatly, there couldn't be any doubt that it was the signature sign of my Angel. I had just begun debating with myself if it was another slight similarity between the Angel and the Phantom, the same messenger – Madame Giry – when I heard a distantly familiar voice.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander." I glanced up, seeing none other than Raoul at the door, with a large bouquet of flowers. I quickly hid the blood red rose – I didn't want him to see it. "Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?"

"Raoul…" I said, a smile forming on my face.

"Or of riddles or frocks?"

"Those picnics in the attic…" Memories were returning.

"Or of chocolates?" He finished, crouching next to me, smiling as well.

"No, what I love best, Lotte said," This was my favorite part of the story, the part that made me wish I was Lotte. It was the reason I was nicknamed Lotte. "…is when I'm asleep in my bed. And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."

Raoul chuckled and we repeated the last line together, singsong voices in perfect harmony. Then, he embraced me lovingly. "You sang like an angel tonight."

I had to correct him. "When my father lay dying, he said: When I'm in Heaven, child, I will send to you the Angel of Music." I paused at the memory, but regained my courage, "Well, my father is dead, Raoul… and I have been visited by the Angel of Music."

Sadness crossed his face at the mention of father's death – he knew well what he meant to me – but at the mention of the Angel, he nodded instantly, "Oh, no doubt of it! And now, we go to supper!"

"No, Raoul." Panic was finding its way into my voice quickly. If the Angel would _hear…_ if the Angel would _see…_ "The Angel of Music is very strict."

But he merely laughed. I knew most people would not believe in the Angel, but this worried me. He thought I was joking! "Well, I shan´t keep you up late! Two minutes – Little Lotte." He said with a charming smile and quickly closed the door behind him.

"Raoul, wait!" It was too late. He was gone and my doom was sealed. The Angel said he would never keep me out of his sight… I didn't dare think what would happen now.

I looked around, as if expecting a blow in the face. But not even a sound disturbed the silence. Sighing, I decided to change into my nightgown. Perhaps silence was the punishment the Angel had prepared for me. But I was getting drowsy – I would have to face my fate tomorrow.

Then a harsh wind blew the candles out. I spun around in an instant, watching the smoke. I should have recognized this as a warning sign. But nothing could have prepared me for the pure venom that reached my ears.

_Insolent boy_

_This slave of fashion_

_Basking in **your** glory!_

I winced at the mere sound – his voice was skilled in anger and hatred when situation required it, just as it was skilled in softness and enchantment. I feared this sudden change. But it was understandable – I didn't send Raoul away when I should have.

_Ignorant fool _

_This brave young suitor _

_Sharing in **my** triumph!_

I almost stopped breathing. It was as if he were singing a song, even when he was cursing someone to Hell. The pitch was simply flawless, the subconscious melody entrancing.

_Angel, I hear you!_

_Speak – I listen!_

_Stay by my side_

_Guide me_

I received no response to my desperate plea, so I knew I had to continue. His silence was torture beyond anything physical.

"Angel, my soul was weak! Please forgive me! Please…" my voice faded into silence, "I ask you, beg you… give me one final chance. Please come to me, Angel. I need you now, more than ever."

He promised me to show himself soon. Unworthy as I was, I knew that if he would disappear forever, without showing himself to me once, I would die of despair and a broken heart. I needed to earn his trust now, by whatever means.

"Flattering child… you shall know me, then." I had never heard his voice sound so uncertain, so… human. But it regained its commanding nature all-too-quickly. "You shall see why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, Christine. Look closely."

I did as he asked, strange as it sounded. And as I thought that I saw only the room I was in any my own reflection, a towering dark figure began to take shape, seemingly out of nowhere.

_I am there, inside! _

There was no mistaking the fact that now, the voice didn't seem as ethereal as before, in the sense that it wasn't coming from above anymore, but it lost none of its divine purity. It was coming from the mirror.

Entranced, spellbound, I walked to the mirror, the many times I had called for him echoing in my mind.

_Angel of Music_

_Guide and guardian_

_Grant to me your glory!_

_Angel of Music_

_Hide no longer!_

_Come to me, strange Angel!_

As I stood there, facing him, I couldn't tear my gaze from the burning flames of his eyes, only vaguely noticing that the right half of his face was covered by an ivory mask. His hair as black as ink, he was dressed in the very same color from head to toe, the magnificent cape creating the illusion of wings. His skin was as pale as the moonlight and his face made me think that it was not an Angel, but God Himself that stood in front of me, with His hand outstretched, beckoning me closer.

_I am your Angel…_

_Come to me, Angel of Music… _

_I am your Angel of Music…_

_Come to me, Angel of Music… _

Disobedience was out of the question. I took his hand, a firm but not fierce grip tightening on it. He smiled slightly, gently pulling me closer to him, leading me away from the world of daylight.


	7. Intermezzo I: Hades

**Author's notes: **I'm stuck at home with a fever, so I have loads of time… but alas, my larynx doesn't allow me to speak much, let alone sing, so I'm compensating it with writing.

_**Attention! Flash forward to the Down Once More sequence in this intermezzo! Changing POV! CHANGING POV ON POPULAR DEMANDS! (panting) many thanks for paying attention… oh, and REVIEW! I was in a very creative mood while writing this, so I need to know what you think of my characterization!**_

**Mini Nicka** – heh, I'm your typical EC phan, so I think you can guess… but we'll see. Thanks and read on.

**Daisy Deertree** – if it's blah blah blah, why do you like it? And if you like it, why is it blah blah blah? (is confused) How's this chapter? Better?

**Phan** – heh, thanks. Read on!

**lady kathrin** – don't worry, here's more! Thanks and read on!

**light barrer** – To quote Raoul: "And somehow, the harder she tried to make me happy, the more quietly certain I became that she had loved Erik far more than she ever loved me."

"I had held her in trust for seventeen years until death chose to reunite her with the one to whom she truly belonged."

"(talking to Erik in his thoughts)…I, who shared so unwillingly in your tragedy, now find myself, by some ironic twist of fate, left alone to glory in your triumph."

**EriksSylvia** – Yay, success! That was my intention, you know – when it feels like listening to the song or seeing the movie, you know it's good.

**longblacksatinlace** – it's a wonderful song. Here you go, many thanks and read on!

**Enrinye** – Now there's something very wrong here if you can't find any reason to criticize me, Z. Are you sure you're not sick:-) Or am I really such a good writer? "Dear servant"? Hmm…. Well, I changed my plans for this phic a bit, read it and tell me what you think. P.S. I hope I'll be able to get to that singing teacher soon – I hate colds!

**EriksIngenue** – Success! Thanks and read on:-)

**starnat** – (whisper) I don't have the book either, since I'm also European and they don't sell it where I live, but to help a fellow phan, I suggest you go to phantomoftheopera. com and search "the lair" for "susan kay"... you´ll find what you´re looking for, trust me.

X X X

**Intermezzo I: Hades**

X X X X

In my long life, there have been few moments when I didn't know what to do or what to think. There have been even few moments of helplessness, especially after I realized that it wasn't an overstatement to say that I can do anything, if I really want to.

Indeed, life had prepared me for many things: shocks beyond imagination, to anticipate the unthinkable, to be always on my guard. This, however, I would have never in a million years predicted.

Perhaps it was due to the fact my sanity was questionable tonight that my mind didn't see all the logical outcomes and possibilities. But no. This wasn't logical. The simple idea that this would happen was surely ridiculous, even to a completely sane and normal person.

Fairytales don't come true, I have learned that the moment I realized I was on my own. True, I knew few fairytales back then, but now that I knew countless stories, I'm quite certain that there is no miracle, no salvation. Only darkness… at least for me.

Since birth, I was different from the world around me. On a mental level, certainly, but alas, on the physical as well. While most of the people who knew me thought I was a genius in any and every sense of the word, few truly understood why. Did they really think that if I was like them, so normal and acceptable by the outside world, that I would spend my life studying, locked in my laboratory or sitting behind my organ or playing my violin?

I was a "genius" because I had to be – there was nothing else for me to fill the emptiness of the days. The company of others was not desirable, not anymore. I was happy in my solitude, surrounded by knowledge and music. Those two never questioned me, never denied or defied me. They filled my days, my nights, kept me content.

When I was surrounded by things I loved, I didn't need to think about what would happen if I would ever dare venture into the world of daylight again. I didn't think about the horrified stares I would be receiving, I didn't need to think of the times I needed to prostitute my talents as a magician, about the shouts of crowds demanding that I reveal my face, so they could "hear the Devil sing". Yes, my mother was right to say she hated my devil's face and my angel's voice.

An angel… the very word mocked me. Despite the horror of what lay underneath the mask – my only shield from the cruel world – many have called me that. Angel of Doom, Angel of Death, Angel of Music… it seemed that whatever art I mastered, I became its angel instantly.

But the last one was what brought me to this situation. Never in my life have I acted this rashly. Well, not since I learned to live with my face, anyway. There were moments when rage took over, "possession", I remembered, some called it, moments that I couldn't remember very clearly, except for a sudden redness surrounding me. Red Death! What a suiting description it became! And yet it wasn't a costume – it was myself. My true self.

When did this begin, I wonder? Was it the moment I started this horrible game of lies and deception? Or was it the moment I learned that my intentions have changed?

For years, ever since the fatal moment I heard an angel's song, I had been deceiving a poor child. But I have also been deceiving myself. I led myself to believe in something that never existed, in a dream I have created for her… and, subconsciously, for myself as well.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day in the life of the Opera Ghost, just an ordinary day. Madame Giry came on time to receive further instruction from me and I had just left the disaster of a rehearsal, when I heard a voice echoing through the silence.

It was coming from the chapel.

Few people prayed here, even fewer during the rehearsals. I had to see for myself who this brave little soul was. And I now realize that when I crept into the chapel that night, I have sealed my fate. It was as if I had walked into a dungeon and the door had been sealed behind me. And there was no way out.

What I saw there that night could never be put into words, even though I can say without shame that I am able to work with speech just as well as with music. Understandable, I suppose. My voice has always been and will always be my only beauty, a weapon as deadly as my Punjab lasso, equally subtle. And while I was against slavery and domination of free will in general, I have found very soon that hypnotizing others with the mere sound of my voice was very useful. It was frightening, in a way.

To satisfy my own need for a pleasant memory, I can only say that I have seen an angel there. She could have been six at the time, but Christine Daaé, no matter how sad she can sometimes be, is always the only angel that has walked this earth… the only creature that has ever breached my defenses without trying and touched a part of me I had hoped I had torn out of my soul.

That night, she called to her father, her dead father, hoping to receive an answer, to finally meet her Angel of Music. I had my own experiences with God's "mercy" – my face being the best example – so I knew there was no one to hear her prayers… or, at least, no one who would answer them. And this child would break easily, because I could sense in her voice that she was already shattered in spirit. She wasn't used to fear and hopelessness.

As I wish to mend all broken things, I wished to mend this child's soul. And with a voice like she had – with perfect pitch, no flaw that I could see – I could help her. I knew how to guide voices. I was helping my mother sing when I was four. The only problem was the obvious fact that a chit of the ballet, no matter how broken, wouldn't accept the aid of the infamous O.G. And even if she would, my trust had just begun to build up. I didn't want to show my secrets to a stranger… even a strange angel.

So I had to become an angel myself.

How criminally easy it was to rekindle her hope! The moment she smiled at the sound of my song was the moment I smiled as well… in God knows how long. I rarely felt the need to smile – there was hardly ever reason for one such as me to smile. As I had been once told by that sadistic b…beast (I should not like to swear, even only in thought, while in an angel's presence), the khanum told me that "my face is sufficiently ugly without being twisted like that".

The daily lessons became more of a drug than morphine or opium could ever be. She crushed my daily routine and I worshipped her for that – now, I had a purpose to wake up in the morning, if I actually slept. Strange, since insomnia was one of the things that became a part of my life that I actually slept during the night sometimes.

Before, I never understood why the foolish people slept during the most beautiful time of the day. Now that there was one highlight in my existence and all else was dark and unappealing, I had to sleep… for in my dreams, I could see and hear the angel that had unknowingly saved me.

It became an unhealthy obsession, I suppose, but I was unworldly in the sense that I never cared much for the customs of the outside world. I had my own laws, my own habits and those I had killed for petty things knew well that I wouldn't change them for anything.

But Christine knew nothing of such things, having no idea that her so-called "Angel" could easily pass for the Devil himself, should the creature I had dared call "Master" during moments of insanity need a substitute. Christine had no idea that the hands that produced the music she loved could so easily end lives.

For ten long years I have taken care of the little Miss Daaé, as if she were a flower that would need care to face the harshness of the world. Just as I have told her. And every word was true. I had never lied to Christine, except for the whole concept of being the Angel of Music… but I can't say I never lied to myself.

What man in their right mind wouldn't notice the change in my pupil's appearance? The cheeky child was turning into a beautiful woman… a swan that was growing up was no longer the ugly duckling, if she could ever have been called ugly. And day-by-day, I watched with agony as she smiled, laughed or simply sat in my presence, while oblivious to it, knowing I was there.

I watched her all the time, taking care to see if there were any would-be-suitors chasing her. But Christine remained dedicated and I was content… for the moment. Despite knowing that my love for her had long since become more than just the fatherly affection or the pride of a tutor that loved his talented pupil, I conjured up no illusions for myself. From the beginning, I have known I could never be a real man for her, holding her or simply being with her. I could only be her Angel – a surreal, ethereal presence that followed her wherever she went.

But inside, I was just a broken man.

Curse her, curse her a thousand times! What had she reduced me to? I was a broken man, just a broken man! I, who had conquered masses with simple tricks, who was the emperor of my own domain… and yet this child controlled my soul. And in her innocence, she didn't know what dangerous fire she was playing with.

In time, her curiosity grew. She longed to see me, to know that I was really there. It was obvious to her that this wasn't a mere dream. It had lasted too long to be a dream. And yet that is what it was… a beautiful dream, a soft silky blindfold around our eyes.

It was soon torn to shreds.

Why wasn't she simply content with seeing me, why did she have to prove curious, like a small child and snatch the mask, when I was hoping more than ever that she would accept me for who I was, with or without it?

After that, it could never be the same. Add the sickeningly young and handsome Vicomte de Chagny to the mix and you have a disaster ready!

I never meant to frighten her with Bouquet's death. I never meant to scare her at the Masquerade. I never meant to hypnotize her at her father's grave. All I ever wanted was her to accept me and perhaps, just perhaps, cease to fear me, as I am sure she did.

And tonight, after the premiere of Don Juan, there was really no turning back.

It was time to make a choice – a legal, permanent choice. Tonight, I was prepared to use everything at my disposal to win this battle. I had no chance in a fair fight, so I would fight the only way I knew… to the death. And should this be the day of my death, then the man who would murder me should know that he was doing me a favor. If Christine wouldn't stab me with her words and let me bleed to death, I would be content.

There were few times in my life when I was confused. I understood things quickly. Except for the things I didn't want to understand. Like mirrors. But later, ironically, they became the key to my success. And there were mirrors all around my domain – covered, but they were there. The only uncovered ones were in a long-forgotten hexagonal room of which I have thought much tonight. Oh, how much I wanted to introduce Raoul de Chagny to that room!

But for all my cunning, I could never have seen this coming. Clad in the wedding dress which I had prepared for her long ago, the angel that was the only light in my darkness came to me, ignoring her fiancé, the rope in my hands, the mob that was chanting in the distance… and kissed me.

You could say that it was nothing unusual – a kiss. After all, is there a person who hasn't been kissed by their mother, father, sibling or mate? Well, to astonish you, dear friends, there is one such person in this wretched world… and that person, if he could be called that, was in the arms of an angel right now.

What did the kiss mean? It was to save the Vicomte… yes, that must be it. It couldn't be because she felt something for me. Except pity. She pitied me. Pity came too late. But… I was more than thankful for the gesture.

I was sobbing, I knew it, even as she looked at me with her wide eyes, a strange flicker passing though them. She didn't pull away from my touch. She didn't look away in disgust. She was smiling shyly, hopefully… for me.

Through the sobs, I managed to smile at her, her, who had given me more than she could possibly ever know. And I would remember this very moment until death would finally claim its angel.

How I summoned the strength to do it, I have no idea. But it had to be done. Yet I knew I would regret the words I said very soon. But I loved Christine more than any creature on this planet ever would and wanted only the best for her. Even if it meant that I would never see her again.

Unwilling as I was to do so, I pulled away from her grasp and looked away from her – if I would see her face again, I wouldn't be able to let go. Resigned, suddenly melancholic and broken, the words came out as a choked command.

"Take her! Forget me! Forget all of this!"


	8. Chapter 6: Evening Whispers

**Author's notes:** So, here's the next chapter! And behold: it's from Erik's POV! Yay! Beware – I dislike his movie backstory, the Devil´s Child thing and all that. It takes away too much of his character and makes him behave without reason at times. So I'm using primarily the Kay story, but combining it with the musical. Here you go, I hope you like it!

**sexysarah**– thanks a lot, read on!

**Enrinye**–Do not speak the name! He is forever Le Fop to me! (takes out Punjab Lasso & kills Raoul… again)

**EriksIngenue** – (calling to someone in the other room) Hey, Erik, when do you think you'll have the next chapter ready? They loved the last one. (notices readers) Whoops! Um… yeah… well… (organ music plays in the background) Heheh…

Anyway, seriously now, thanks. I hope this one will match the last one's quality.

**Bumble0Bee** – Hints of RC are to come, but no, this is definitely more EC.

**lady kathrin** – thanks. I loved Kay's book. Read on!

**longblacksatinlace** – hey, I have to do cliffhangers sometimes! Heh, thanks & read on!

**starnat**– Thanks, I'm healthy now. Here's the chapter!

**EriksSylvia** – The sadness was inevitable, I'm afraid. Thanks & read on!

X X X

**Chapter 6 – Evening Whispers**

X X X X

For the first time since I had entered my underground kingdom, the journey didn't seem as dark and silent as it had always been.

It was, after all, the reason I had chosen to build my home, my perfect, unique house, five stories under the ground. I wanted peace and quiet, the two things that seemed to be denied to me for most of my life. Always I had been surrounded by sound and chaos, disharmony that tormented my ears and made me wince time and time again.

No one could understand one such as myself. Certainly not. I was unique, a genius, I had been told often by Nadir, the only person save the worthy Madame Giry whom I dared call a friend. The word seemed foreign to me – I was destined to be alone from the moment of my birth, I knew that, so it was difficult to accept that perhaps there were several precious few individuals scattered across the many countries of the world that would see past the horror of my features and into what burned within my shell.

That was why I had built the house on the lake. I needed solitude. I sought it after the life of adventure that had begun to bore me intensely. All I wanted was to be like everyone else. I could never hope to achieve that! I would always be an outcast, I realized. I was almost ready to accept that even if I would look like a normal man, I would still be lonely, for the very reason I was worshipped as a genius – my soul, even if it wouldn't bear the many scars, was also different than the others.

My soul… I still have it. It is still there. As is the heart of a child. It is foolish to say such things, to admit such weakness, but there was still part of me that remained innocent. Make no mistake – I do not make excuses for my crimes. But despite my darkness, despite my attempts to wipe longing from my core, I still kept the foolish hope that might as well be my end. That perhaps, just perhaps a miracle lied in store for me.

I was holding the miracle's hand now, unwilling to let go even for a second, lest she would disappear, flee from my grasp like a rose-scented mist that I too late realized was poison that awoke something within me.

I never expected myself to be capable of love, not anymore. Come to think of it, I can count the people I have loved and that have loved me back during the long years of my existence on the fingers of one hand. And almost all were gone, dead or far away. But now I had a new purpose.

Strange as it may sound, I have been afraid of the inevitable moment of revelation, when I would have to show myself to my faithful student. Not that I had to, mind you – it would be so very easy to make her believe I was her Angel for an eternity, control her mind from afar, forbid her to run off, because I knew that I held great power over her…

But no. I knew I would show myself to her eventually, willingly, because I wanted… needed… to try to see if there was any chance that she would accept not the Angel, not the Phantom, but the man behind both. I didn't want to hide behind either pseudonym anymore, I wanted to show myself without the camouflage, simply as myself, as Erik.

Now, holding her hand, leading her down with me, my resolve wavered a bit. If I wanted, I would have no problems holding her in my home forever. The sight of a living, breathing angel every day, every night, every moment I wished to be with her – and that meant always – was a tempting thought. Her eyes were fixed on me, almost unblinking. The trance was strong, but I allowed her to maintain some knowledge of what was happening. She could clearly see me, as I promised, for one thing.

My touch must have been cold, but she made no move to pull away, merely followed me obediently down the dark corridor. The torch I was carrying would have been unnecessary if I was alone – I could see perfectly in the dark – but I didn't want her to get frightened at the thought of getting lost in the corridors.

But it was her expression that pleased me the most. It was a common side effect of hypnosis that the medium's eyes would be unfocused and dreamy, but her gaze was sober. And she seemed more awed and amazed than frightened or hurt at the thought of being deceived… though I suppose she hadn't yet realized what was really happening.

In her eyes, I saw things that even the boy, that damnable Vicomte de Chagny, hadn't earned from her. Fascination, excitement, awe… but also a gentleness that made me look away briefly. The child still trusted me, in her innocence, and that wasn't entirely a result of my direct influence.

_In sleep, he sang to me_

_In dreams, he came… _

_That voice, which calls to me_

_And speaks my name…_

She was singing quietly to one of the melodies I had played for her often – a simple, quite catchy tune that was easy to remember and yet pleasant to the ears. Not extremely complicated, nothing to be immensely proud of, since it couldn't be considered my greatest masterpiece… but her voice would probably make even the utterly disastrous tones of some of our resident orchestra sound like a melody from paradise.

_And do I dream again?_

_For now, I find_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_inside my mind… _

I turned to her again, arching an eyebrow delicately, quite certain that the corners of my mouth had to be twitching in an extremely rare smile. Her singing was always a pleasant distraction compared to the usual dealings with the managers, but I couldn't help but be amused. Not so much of the ingénue I thought she was, I suppose – the constant pleas that I show myself had a purpose, it seems. Even my little Christine had somewhat of a scheming mind. Those verses were prepared.

_Sing once again with me  
our strange duet  
My power over you  
grows stronger yet_

For just a second, her eyes flickered with something close to my own amusement. Well, she was the one who had begun the song and it would be most impolite of me to leave her singing alone when I could also say with music what I could not say with words.

Glancing at the magnificent staircase that was now behind us, she gave me an idea how to continue and bring her attention back to me.

_And though you turn from me  
to glance behind  
The Phantom of the opera is there  
inside your mind  
_

Awed, she turned back to me, her fascination growing. But the journey was long and her current attire wasn't meant for traveling – thus, I had arranged a better means of transportation for her.

Awaiting us beyond yet another set of stairs was César, the Opera's finest stallion, currently in my possession. It was such a tragic waste that an animal so capable and beautiful would be treated like a common beast. A better fate would await him with me, I reasoned, since I cared for animals – those who never judged me by my appearance and appeared to enjoy my company just as much as I enjoyed theirs – and also sought a companion in my darkness other than the faithful Ayesha. Make no mistake, the Siamese cat was my joy, but there were many benefits in having a stallion at all times. Thus, César mysteriously disappeared from the stables quite recently.

_Those who have seen your face  
Draw back in fear_

Christine continued to sing, now seated on the horse, but still watching me. I led César with utmost care, though I knew he would manage the journey without problems. After all, I was the one who knew every step, every stone, every small crevice in this Opera house. I would lead him safely.

_  
I am the mask you wear _

That was not exactly theverse I would have liked her to add to the song, but I suppose it was inevitable that she would notice the white mask on my face. But I had no intention of sating this kind of curiosity – I went to fine measures to assure that she would be comfortable tonight and fear of me was the last emotion I wanted to inspire within her.

_  
It's me they hear _

The rhyme was easy. As she continued singing, I didn't hesitate to join. There were rare occasions when I sang duets with her, because my main priority was to train her voice, not exercise mine. After all, the vocal training I had received as a small child did me little good. I was the one who brought my voice to its farthest reaches… or rather, current farthest reaches. 

My/Your spirit and your/my voice  
In one combined  
The Phantom of the opera is there/here  
inside my/your mind

The melody changed again and to be fair, I was the one who began this time, right after I helped her off the horse and into the small boat that awaited us. We have reached the lake – the journey was almost over. She was almost entirely within my grasp now.

_In all your fantasies_

_you always knew _

_That man and mystery_

Her timing was perfect… besides, I knew she would be able to come up with a rhyme to that one easily. She had a good ear, which is why she knew almost immediately her pitch was bad, even if she didn't know why.

_Were both in you..._

Yes, she knew what answer I was expecting.

_But in this labyrinth_

_Where night is blind_

_The Phantom of the Opera here/there_

_inside my/your mind_

It was the final part – there was nothing else to add. The melody was over. But I wasn't ready to give up the pleasure of hearing her voice yet. Commanding her to sing, I relished the sound of her perfect voice as it hit very high notes.

The mechanism sealing my home off from the rest of the world worked flawlessly and the many candles illuminating the shore came into view. I rowed the boat with ease, almost leaping from it once it was possible to step out of it. I disliked traveling like this most of the time – I remember that it almost drove Nadir out of his mind once – but I have come used to it quickly, a necessary evil. The Seine wasn't something to be easily ignored.

With an elegant twirl, I removed my cape and let it fall on one of the many pieces of expensive furniture, turning my attention back to my young guest. I must say that it was pleasing to see her almost forget how to breathe at the sight of all the treasures – both artistic and real – in front of her.

"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne." I told her, attracting her attention with ease. Even the most glamorous sight couldn't compare to the sound of my voice, it seemed. "You have come here for a single purpose, Christine. I need you," I was tempted to stop there – it was true, very true. "here with me, to sing… to sing my music. You will be my herald, just as you are my muse."

It would take her some time to comprehend what I was asking of her, but now, now when she was finally with me, the fascination and affection radiating from her was more than intoxicating for me.

Yet it was late, she was surely tired from her performance and still under my spells. Tomorrow seemed an eternity away, but now that I had my angel with me, I knew I would be able to wait. I had waited years… no, my entire life… for her. I could wait a few more hours.

Then I would tell her everything.

Not for the first time this night, I began approaching her carefully, resisting the urge to do something I would regret very soon with what I hoped was grace. Fear was unwanted tonight.

"Welcome to the world of night, my angel."


	9. Chapter 7: Illumination

**Author's notes:** MotN, anyone? (everyone yells "ME! ME!") Heh, okay. So, we have it here! This was one hell of a struggle, so I hope Erik isn't OOC. Yes, his POV again… I'll switch back to Christine (or should I do Raoul? (shudders)) later. Writing Erik is somehow easier. And it makes more sense, since Christine is relatively dazzled now. Anyway, chocolate for anyone who finds the little Leroux joke!

**Mademoiselle Phantom** – yay, thanks for reviewing!

**Enrinye** – love da parodies, Z. ;-) Anyway, have a read of this. I wanna know what you think.

**EriksIngenue** – here you go. It was that romantic? Heh, thanks. That means it's good.

**lady kathrin** – the wait is over… let the fantasy begin! (runs from group of lawyers shouting something about copyright)

**starnat** – thanks, here's MotN.

X X X

**Chapter 7 – Illumination **

X X X X

The trap was set and its prey was speechless.

That could be one way to describe the current situation. Yet who was the hunter and who the prey? I was just as mesmerized as the white angel in front of me. But this was my territory and my domain – I had the power over the material world here.

My task was clear. All fear or wariness must disappear, even though there were probably only shreds of them left, due to my… gentleness? That sounded unusual. I normally held others in check thanks to my voice, not my behavior. Again, I had to remind myself that this was different. I was treading in dangerous waters. Thus I would have to use whatever I could to its fullest extent, to show her that despite my pretense and deception, I would never, ever, harm her, of all people.

_Nighttime sharpens_

_Heightens each sensation_

The song seemed to find its way into my mouth naturally. True, I had composed it for her and especially for this moment, which I knew was nearing itself. It had taken me a long time to even find the right inspiration. What should I sing about? While she without a doubt deserved admiration, singing flattery about her virtues and beauty was plain ridiculous.

_Darkness stirs _

_And wakes imagination _

Singing of myself was out of the question, not least of all because of the laughable nature of the very idea. Besides, there were few happy things in my life, few deeds of which I was proud and each had a sad ending and a parting to go with it.

_Turn your face away _

_From the garish light of day_

Daylight. Even the word sounded garish and pompous to my ears. Day meant discovery, people, noise…

_Turn your thoughts away _

_From cold, unfeeling light_

People say that the days are warm, that light cheers you up. It never worked for me. Forever was I "doomed" to wander the world only after the light had faded. I learned to love the darkness… and, if there must be light, let it be the moon and stars!

_And listen to the music of the night_…

Indeed, the music was soft, you could easily miss it during the rush of daytime, but when it was dark and there were no disrupting sounds, those who listened heard it. I did, anyway.

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams! _

Christine, now out of the boat safely, thanks to my help, obliged and stopped, closing her eyes. For the moment, I had to let go of her hand, but it was worth the sight. She understood… my faithful student was beginning to see and hear. She began to listen to the music that I alone seemed to hear.

_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before! _

Especially any thoughts of that damned Vicomte. Really, he couldn't have picked a better time to come and ruin my plans if he tried. I would have to deal with that problem soon.

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar! _

Her head rising along with my voice, I was certain that Christine would spread her arms and start floating in a moment.

_And you'll live as you've never lived before… _

When she opened her eyes and glanced at me, I was almost certain that I could do anything in that very moment. I moved towards her again, daring to believe that this wasn't just another feverish dream or a cruel mirage, that it was real, that Christine, my Christine, was looking at me without fear or repulsion.

_Softly, deftly _

_music shall caress you_

At least music could be bold enough to do what I couldn't… not yet, anyway.

_Hear it, feel it _

_secretly possess you_

Again I led her by then hand carefully, showing her whatever I could of the "outer" chamber. Giving someone a tour of my home wasn't exactly my intention when I built it – I wanted solitude, but my weakness for beauty in all its forms didn't allow me to part with all the wonderful furniture I had… inherited, you could say and I certainly wanted whatever I had to make on my own to be of the highest quality.

_Open up your mind! _

_Let your fantasies unwind!_

Her mind was probably struggling to comprehend all that had happened to her in the past minutes. Mine was equally focused on the desperate attempts not to take my own lyrics too seriously.

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight… _

Any of her defenses, be it mental or physical, were dropped – she followed me without question, latching onto each word of the song. What she at first thought to be a dream must seem strangely realistic to her now.

_The darkness of the music of the night… _

Wide-eyed, Christine surveyed the surroundings, her mouth slightly open. But at the same time, she was trying to focus her attention on me, her guide and guardian in this strange underground wonderland.

_Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world! _

Now she was starting to understand that the dream wasn't a dream at all. Slowly but surely, she saw that it was real, as was I, as was the strange dream world around her.

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before! _

And she was accepting it without question, seeing that here, there were no unkind people to mock or hurt her, only music… and the man she called her Angel.

_Let your soul take you where you long to be! _

It remained questionable if she would still refer to me as such in the morning, when the last piece of the puzzle would fall into place and she would realize that her Angel was also the Phantom of the Opera.

_Only then can you belong to me… _

Now, finally, I dared risk touching her, turning her back towards me, so that her head would rest on my shoulder. The scent of her hair and skin reached my senses – our proximity allowed that perfectly. This part of the dream was my dream… not hers, which was regrettable to some extent, but also understandable. Angels were above the mortal need for touch.

I wasn't. This could have been a signal for her, if the music wasn't surrounding and captivating her.

_Floating, falling _

_Sweet intoxication_

She made no move to stop my hands as they almost hungrily explored her and the lower part of her corset. Even if I wasn't an angel, as I was certain of not least of all because of my current bliss due to this closeness to Christine, I was in Heaven… and an angel was with me.

A true, pure, innocent angel. Not even God Himself would be able to snatch her from me now – I would strike him down without a second thought. I may have moments when I am sorry for the sins I have committed during my travels… but stealing this angel from God wasn't something I would regret.

_Touch me, trust me _

_Savor each sensation_

I brought her hand to the left side of my face – the side that was, compared to what lied beneath the mask, perfectly normal. I could be called handsome, perhaps, if the other side matched this. But I have never aimed for physical beauty… all I wanted was to be like everyone else. Normal. Endurable to look at. Now, only the mask enabled that.

A long breath, close to a soft moan, escaped Christine's lips. I made the choice – I would show her now. Explanations could wait. She had to see that I didn't simply want to control her voice or claim her body. I wanted Christine Daaé, all of her, in every possible way. I no longer wanted to be lonely. I never did, not since the day I saw her in the chapel.

_Let the dream begin! _

I was already dreaming, you know. Dreaming of what might be…­

If… if there is a merciful God in Heaven, like the Christians claim, he will allow me this one mercy. I would swear and swear gladly to Him that I would never sin again, never kill or steal or blackmail or do anything that He sees as an evil… only if he would allow me, a soul condemned to be viewed as a Devil's child, one thing – her love.

_Let your darker side give in! _

There was no tomorrow, only now. I was leading her by the hand again, towards the lace curtain hiding the greatest mark of my obsession with her. Would she be shocked, I wonder? I had spent months perfecting the face alone – it was one of my first attempts, as I was no sculptor, but the mannequin was as close to perfection as it could get. Of course, nothing could be as close to perfection as the model, but I did my best nonetheless.

_To the power of the music that I write… _

She smiled at me gently and if I were bold enough to believe in what I saw in her eyes, I would stop and claim one of the kisses that have been denied to me during the years of my life. For in her eyes, I saw acceptance and affection. I saw a yes there.

_The power of the music of the night… _

Pushing the curtain away, I forced myself to motion to her to turn away and look, gesturing to the dummy in the bridal gown. It was a shock, I knew, so I wasn't that unprepared for her reaction. The young girl was too overwhelmed by the unspoken proposal, especially if she still believed I was her Angel. I doubt she ever considered in her wildest dreams that I might care for her more than I showed her.

Poor, trusting Christine. She had no idea. She didn't know of the many nights I dreamed of her and allowed my mind to escape into outrageous dreams of a future with her, a life filled with music and joy with her as my wife.

I caught her swiftly as she swayed and fainted, falling into my welcoming embrace. Scooping her up, I carried her to the room I had prepared for her, the room that was to be hers during her stay and hopefully even longer. The swan bed in the middle was the perfect place to lay her down.

Part of me yearned to stay, but I wished to know the answer to my unspoken question. Then and only then could I do what I yearned to do now and stay. Barely touching her as if she was a glass doll that would break underneath clumsy fingers, I ran my fingers just above the skin of her cheek, close enough to feel her warmth while avoiding contact. My hands were cold – hence the gloves – so I feared to wake her.

Instead, I merely sang to her.

_You alone can make my song take flight… _

_Help me make the music of the night…_

And, as the black lace curtain fell in front of me, sparing one last look at Christine sleeping peacefully, I retreated.


	10. Chapter 8: Hearing voices

**Author's notes:** Behold: "No one would listen"! I love the song. So it´s here! Okay, I was thinking of switching to Christine's POV again, but then decided to go with Erik again. I have no idea why he's so easy to write (for me, that is), since he's such a complex character. Z., if you're reading this, I guess you were right – I am becoming more and more like him each day. Stuck in my room, doing artistic stuff, architecture, singing, drawing, insomnia, my dislike of daylight… do I see similarities there? And I'm not counting my personality yet.

Oh, Leroux joke was "Poor, trusting Christine." (hint: "Poor Erik." Christine constantly keeps saying that in Leroux).

**Enrinye** – the resident critical cynic is fascinated? Wow, I must be getting good (laughs) Anyway, you got part of it right, I guess, but the joke was a quote. No criticism? (celebration begins)

**lady kathrin** – Thanks for reading, here you go!

**Mini Nicka** – Thanks!

**ElfPrincess94** – (bows) Double review! Yay!

**starnat** – Well, that would have been the sane thing to do. Scratch that, the sane thing would have been: After seeing the mannequin, no faint, rather, a kiss. Now that would be the sane thing to do.

**longblacksatinlace**– Good eyes. Yep, it was a Kay quote, a bit adjusted. Leroux was the "Poor Christine" bit. Anyway, I'll consider Fop's POV… just not now.

X X X

**Chapter 8 – Hearing voices**

X X X X

For all I know, the time I spent sitting at the organ, composing, could have been as much as a lifetime, or as little as a second. Yet while I played, time and space ceased to exist and I was at peace. There was only sound.

Inspiration flooded me from every direction now, but I couldn't bring myself to continue working on Don Juan Triumphant. The music was filled with the essence of myself, my emotions… a part of me I didn't wish to reveal to anyone, perhaps not even to myself, fully, yet. Even I was scared, at times, by the thoughts flowing through my mind.

But there was another reason as well. The music was loud and passionate, and was bound to wake Christine. Turning my thoughts to more sanity-protecting things, I simply began to play the first melody that crossed my mind.

My music always reflected my thoughts or emotions at a particular moment, sometimes concerning a particular topic. Composers have a tendency of detaching themselves from their work. Such a thing was unthinkable for me. Music was the very core of my being, my god and only master, the sanctuary that protected me better than even any of the traps constructed around my lair ever could.

It was music that formed my bond with Christine.

_No one would listen  
No one but her  
Heard as the outcast hears…_

I almost didn't realize that I actually sang the words, it sounded so… remote. Pity or ever self-pity were things I was long past. I learned to accept myself as I was, though I knew the world never would. Angel, demon… I would always be viewed as an extreme. Never as Erik.

_Shamed into solitude  
Shunned by the multitude_

It was simply the truth, without unnecessary emotion behind it. My childish need for love and acceptance was long gone… at least when it came to demanding such things from the crowds.

_I learned to listen  
In my dark, my heart heard music_

Perhaps it was because I had set out on a never-ending journey for perfection. Excellence was not enough for me and being outstanding would never suffice. Unless work was done flawlessly, I wouldn't rest. And so it was with music. I heard it, I was so close! But I failed to capture it the way it was supposed to be.

_  
I longed to teach the world  
Rise up and reach the world_

If only through music. I could show them that deep down inside, underneath all the walls I had constructed over the years to shield myself from all the cruelty of the world, I wasn't a bad person. Evil is never born, you know. It's made. I didn't know exactly where the line between good and evil was, but I knew it had become very blurred for me… if it ever existed at all. I had never been taught the difference between the two extremes.

_  
No one would listen  
I alone could hear the music_

I bowed my head and closed my eyes. Humans. I have observed them, studied them, immersed myself in them… I saw their hate, their fear, thus my view of them became rather wide, even if I never saw the positive sides of the human race. Sometimes I doubted there was a thing such as compassion, or, if it existed, if it could find its way into the fearful human soul. My opinion of the homo sapiens was very low.

They never understood me, but oh, how I understood them.

_Then at last, a voice in the gloom  
Seemed to cry "I hear you!_

Again, it was but the truth. Before that, I knew no one with a love for music as great as mine. Strange that it took a praying child, while I liked to think myself as of an atheist, to show me that perhaps I was not completely alone in this world. And despite the many obvious differences between us, if I didn't know then, then I surely knew now that I had found a soul with equal love and pain within it, a broken child that had found a sanctuary in me, as I had in her.

_  
I hear your fears,  
Your torment and your tears."_

To be completely honest, I rarely cried. Almost never. It took something really dreadful to reduce me to tears. Not even death managed it. Anger was my first shield from grief. Everyone who ever found themselves facing my temper can officially blame my mother. I remember her temper. And sometimes I saw quite a few similarities between us, if only psychological.

That would probably infuriate her, if she were still alive, but I suppose she knew that no matter how she tried to wipe the simple fact from her mind, she couldn't deny that I was her son and therefore inherited some of her characteristics.

But my mother wasn't a pleasant subject to think about, even if it wouldn't anger or sadden me anymore. There were other things that had the potential to awaken those emotions, however. Fortunately, they became scarce. I have seen far too many terrible things in my life to be remorseful or enraged too quickly. "Too" was the keyword. But… torment I knew well.

_  
She saw my loneliness  
Shared in my emptiness_

Just as I had been lonely and broken, my angel was once also deserted in this world. With no family or friends, she came to this opera house to start a new life, with questionable success, had I not approached her, I suppose. And the routine of my existence would have remained the same even now, had it not been for her.

Thus, we were almost soulmates before we even knew each other. She unknowingly understood me just as I understood her.

_No one would listen  
No one but her  
Heard as the outcast hears_

Perhaps outcast wasn't the right word, but I didn't suppose there was a word long and meaningful enough to define me and my relationship with the human race. It would have to suffice.

_  
No one would listen  
No one but her  
Heard as the outcast hears..._

Absent-mindedly, I realized that I never wrote down the song. My only luck was that it kept ringing in my head and the words, painfully accurate, were hard to forget. I always had a wretchedly good memory and thus couldn't forget even things I would prefer not to be able to remember anymore.

From the years of deforming my handwriting to make sure that it would never bear any resemblance of the probably long-lost notes and sketches of one of the chief constructors of the Opera, my hand had adapted to the scribbling writing style, switching back only when I wrote music. A reflex, I suppose.

The song, while short, took a while to write down, simply because everything seemed so quiet now that even the scratching of a quill would sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Besides, the acoustics were all-too-good.

I thought I heard music – another familiar tune – echoing very softly, even though I wasn't playing. That music box was a mystery even to me sometimes. It was a simple clockwork mechanism, the hardest part of creating it was the monkey figure. Every detail was completely authentic, even the moves of its arms when it played were fluid, as if the little player was indeed alive. And it was dressed in Persian robes, for various reasons.

In Persia, I believe I had seen once or twice a live monkey dressed up like that, if only for entertainment. This one was dressed up mainly because of my melancholic mood. Not that I missed the "rosy hours of Mazenderan", as Nadir would no doubt comment in his rare moments of sarcasm. But there was something to Persia that made it hard to forget, if only as a traveler.

Cultural-wise, the society had degraded considerably. But their past was glorious. And I had more than a fair share of…­ souvenirs, you might say, from my time there. Some were gifts, some were tokens I had purchased on my own, some were objects I liked and decided that they were largely wasted wherever I had found them and decided to take them for my own. Such as the diamond collar that Ayesha now wore.

And, thought I would probably never admit it out loud, it was also something that could remind me of the one friend I had made there, the ever-vigilant daroga. I missed his criticism on occasion – he never ceased to amuse me. And that was quite an achievement.

I returned my mind to the papers in front of me and frowned. Perhaps I could start working on Don Juan after all. I had no trouble imagining the music in my head… I could play it later, to see if it was right. But the sound of footsteps, quiet as they were, dismissed that idea.

When I turned to see what it was, I tensed. Christine was standing a few meters away, her face showing nothing short of curiosity and awe. While the moment of explanation was inevitable, I didn't guess it was so soon. I found myself turning back to the organ, almost anxious, waiting for her accusations and then the questions… or, at the very least, something I was prepared to face. Meeting a gentle gaze wasn't on the list.

The footsteps resumed and I knew that soon, there would be no avoiding the confrontation.

"Who are you, Angel of Music?" At last something that was moderately predictable. Yet I couldn't find the courage to face her now and shatter the remains of the illusion I had created.

And then, her touch! I could feel her hand on my cheek, just as the night before. Was it time to reverse our positions, then? Because if she had been entranced before, I doubt it could compare with what was happening to me now.

That was my doom.

Damn the curiosity that led her hand to snatch away the mask! Damn her for wanting to see the one thing I never intended to reveal to her! Could she not have realized that perhaps there was a logical reason as to why I chose to cover myself with it?

My eyes instantly darted open, the moment's bliss gone. It was too late, I knew. She saw… she saw… but my anger took over. She wanted to see! Then I would let her see! I grabbed her by the wrist, bringing her closer.

"Look, Christine! Look! You wanted to see, so look!" I practically threw her to the floor, unable to look at her any longer. The horror and pity in her eyes were almost sickening. I didn't want either of those. She still clutched the mask, however, so the only mercy I could grant her was covering my face with my hand.

"Damn you, you little prying Pandora! Is this what you wanted to see!" I ignored her sobs, her trembling form… I was too enraged. "You just had to look, didn't you, you little viper! Do you realize that you can never be free now! If you would still think I was handsome, you would return… but now, you would run away, Christine!"

She was crying, still kneeling on the floor, not daring or not able to look at me, even though what caused her fear was out of sight. My temper didn't help much, I knew, but what right did she have to do that!

"Christine…" I forced softness into my tone, but all that I heard was despair. "This… this is stranger than you dreamt it… you can't even look, can you now? You can't even bear to think of me… how could you? But even a loathsome gargoyle who burns in hell can secretly yearn for heaven, do you know that? If only secretly… secretly… but Christine…"

She stopped crying and managed to look at me with teary eyes, clearly expecting more furious screams. They never came. I couldn't bear to frighten her more. I didn't want to.

"Fear… even fear can turn to love… you will learn to see… to find the man beyond the monster… this repulsive carcass… who seems a beast but…secretly dreams of beauty… secretly, secretly... " My voice, once powerful, was a pained whisper, almost choked as I closed my eyes in anguish. This should never have transpired. "Oh, Christine..."

Though still frightened, she must have understood my silent plea to return me the mask and at least give me back some strength. She handed it back, her arm trembling, but I was careful not to touch her. I doubt she would appreciate it – it would probably only make her faint with disgust.

Turning away, I returned the mask to my face, feeling really as if strength had been returned to me. I was in control again and could do whatever I wanted to do. Glancing into space, I sighed. I would have to return her to those two fools that had the nerve to call themselves managers. Missing prima donnas were hard to explain… plus, I wasn't about to risk someone taking Christine's place.

I forced calm and formality into my voice. It was time to part with my angel, at least temporarily. She would have to overcome the shock she went through before I would be able to reach her again. And I was afraid of that time.

"Come, we must return, those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."


	11. Chapter 9: Silent Wishes

**Author's notes:** Long wait, but here we go! Another Erik's POV chapter. Z., I've got it planned out, so don't worry. :-)

**Enrinye** – say hello to dark Erik! This chapter is the Buquet scene, so it's a bit violent! Just the way you like it! ;-p

**longblacksatinlace** – (bows)

**starnat** – Agreed!

X X X

**Chapter 9 – Silent Wishes **

X X X X

I was restless.

That might seem a trivial state to normal people, but I had good reason to be restless. Mere hours have passed since I had released Christine, allowing my angel to fly back up to the world of daylight. I despised myself for yelling at her, making myself seem even more of a monster than I already must have seemed to her.

It was my goal to reveal that inside, I was worthy of being called a good person, worthy of the title of her angel, perhaps. The chance for me to do so never came. I had no other choice but to let her go. I couldn't stand the sight of her teary face, the fear and pity in her eyes would crush me.

Instead of thinking of what had happened, I decided to spend time doing something productive. And running my theater counted as productive.

So far, the new managers had proven absolutely inept at anything concerning the Opera Populaire, if I wasn't counting seducing the chorus girls. And even then, the ballet rats had to be very drunk. That meant that O.G. would have to send a few more notes and remind them of their place.

Quite frankly, I didn't think they believed in my existence. Not yet. They dismissed it as a legend of the theater, a myth made up to scare the children. If they knew that the ghost existed in flesh and blood, I'm certain their laughter would freeze. And if they would continue being as impossibly stupid as they were now, I would have to take more drastic action.

Il Muto was the next production. Again, not my most favorite opera in the world, but it was a decent piece. It was humorous, which was a nice change, thus I had nothing against the management's choice. But their choice of cast was horrid, as I was certain that Carlotta had heard of Christine's triumph… not least of all because of my intervention… and, knowing the managers, the moment she would reappear in a pompous fluffy outfit, they would be groveling at their knees.

Carlotta, a toad of a woman when it came to singing and an official fashion disaster, was the first person I wanted out of the Opera. I had been training my own prima donna and I wouldn't let the shrieking disaster ruin Christine's career and torture my ears. If she had any brains underneath those silly hairdos and overdone wigs she wore, she would stay out of my theater now, attending only as an audience. And it was doubtful I would allow her in anyway.

The Vicomte de Chagny was another piece I needed off the chessboard. I also wrote to him, simply telling him that Christine would be fine and that he should leave her alone. How the boy would take the anonymous note, I wasn't sure, but hopefully he too had enough sense to see that his Little Lotte was now my angel… and I wasn't going to allow him to whisk her away.

If they would obey, we would be living in symbiosis again.

They didn't.

They had the nerve to give Carlotta the main role, which was meant to be Christine's! They had given the star that had saved their previous production the only silent role in the play – Serafimo, the lover of the Countess, the Pageboy! The Pageboy! That was the final insult! Not only to her, but to me as well! How dare they! And those fools, the managers – they sold Box 5!

My fury matched that of the previous night, if it didn't surpass it. This was the final straw. They wanted a war, they would get it. I would start with a warning shot. After this, they would see that they really didn't want me as an enemy.

They wanted a toad to sing the main role – they would get a toad.

I strode into the laboratory and spent hours creating the right concoction. Fortunately, Carlotta always paraded her throat spray around. While the bottle was expensive, I had no trouble creating a replica. And when someone would be taking it to Carlotta, I doubt they will waste time checking if it was the correct bottle.

A cold smile appeared on my face as I examined the perfection of my creation. Tonight, this would be for you, Christine. I would avenge us both and clear the path to the success of both of us. One barrier would be swept away from the road to perfection and tonight, at long last, I would be with you again and beg for your forgiveness.

I left my dark home that night – I didn't even need a clock to tell the time. Carlotta's shrieking was more than a precise chronometer. The performance was horrid. Carlotta was worse than usual and Christine, though charming, had a smile that resembled a nervous grimace when you looked close.

It was during the scene when Don Attilio leaves that I decided I couldn't take any more of this. Stepping out of my hiding place and emerging on the catwalk near the chandelier, I observed the audiences before announcing my presence.

"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?" My voice bounced from the walls like a booming roar, showing contempt and irritation mixed with mild anger. Everything that had eyes turned to me.

The performers froze, only Christine seemed to be the almost on the edge of panic.

"It's him! I know it, it's him!" I saw her whisper to no one in particular.

But Carlotta heard her and immediately spat: "Your part is silent, little toad!" then returned her attention to the audience with a practiced smile that was highly repulsive.

Almost amused, I arched an eyebrow, observing the diva coolly. "A toad, madam? Perhaps it is you who are the toad." After that, I left. The events of the night had been set in motion.

Vaguely, I noticed someone following me. A quick survey from the shadows revealed that it was in fact Joseph Buquet, the chief of flies. But more importantly, the person who never was at his post – not that I complained – our resident Peeking Tom and the most popular storyteller when it came to telling tales about me. The man once had a very nasty run-in with me. Above all, I wasn't wearing the mask back then, so his terror had more than good reason. He got a good detailed glimpse, that one, so his descriptions were all the more vivid.

Somehow, the tales of the Punjab lasso also bubbled to the surface. Strange, really, since I never actually used it on any of the employees. Maybe he noticed it when he saw me and though he didn't know the exact name of the weapon, he guessed what it might be.

Of course, most of the tales were grossly exaggerated, and that was saying something. My skin was far from "yellow parchment", for one thing. But I took no real offence in these fables, until I learned that Buquet had taken a liking to searching for me.

Occasionally, the ballet rats would organize a "search for the Phantom". It always amused me to watch the tight-knit group of girls run around with candles in their hands, shrieking at the sight of a rat. How they hoped to even see my shadow, I had no idea, but they weren't devious in their efforts and I doubted they would do more than scream if I would ever give them the privilege of a personal appearance.

They were actually useful – the lot had more than a vivid imagination, sometimes better than mine when it came to behaving like a ghost. At times, it seemed that their fantasy was wasted here and that the girls should make a career as gothic novel writers, not ballet dancers.

Buquet was another thing. While pursuing more details for his tales of the Phantom, I seriously doubted he would give up the search so easily. He was obnoxious, which was fine by me, but his persistence was beginning to be irritating. And this time, he wasn't searching for me for his own amusement.

I can only imagine what reward the managers would give for my head, what bounty the person who would find me would collect. Fortunately, I had a lot of experience with being a ghost, without even trying. Thus the chance of being caught by these amateurs was very slight, close to zero, if not even lower.

Finally, I showed myself to Buquet. The man predictably gave me the terrified wide-eyed look and tried to get away. I found the chase amusing, really. I knew every rope, every step, every wall in this building and had the skills of an acrobat when it came to handling them. And he thought he could outrun me.

Turning around, the look of horror on Buquet´s face as he saw me inches from him was almost amusing. But my mind was filled with the natural thrill of a predator cornering its prey. The noose was around his neck within an instant. Below, the ballet rats began dancing, oblivious to what was happening above. My prey couldn't even scream for help and his feeble attempts to pry my grip open were in vain.

It took seconds, really – it would have taken much less time if I didn't want him to suffer. It could be quick or really, really slow. I suppose I took out my anger on him, since I felt a sense of freedom when the corpse, now hung on the rope, tumbled down to the stage.

For moments my cold eyes watched the work of my anger. My rage had caused the screams that followed, the panicky running around. With one last look of contempt, I turned away, my cape flowing behind me.

Christine was safe. Christine was still in her dressing room. They had announced she would be playing the Countess, after all. She wouldn't ever find out… she wouldn't… she did…

It was her, in a red cloak, rushing around the stage. She was calling for the boy, desperate.

And, worst of all, she was out of my reach now! I couldn't snatch her away from his grasp in front of so many people. All I could do was watch as he tried to lead her away. But Christine was against that idea and pulled him away to the stairs to the roof of the Opera.

What she hoped to accomplish by this, I had no idea. But I was already running to the roof myself, arriving with several seconds to spare before the door flew open and my angel ran out, almost as if she needed oxygen more than anything else right now. She was holding back sobs, I could tell, even as I moved closer and hid behind one of the statues.

The boy was with her, obviously not understanding a thing. They seemed to be in the middle of a rushed conversation where she was explaining why she was running this way… and apparently, it involved me, for in a second, the Vicomte lashed out:

"There is no Phantom of the Opera!" I wanted to snort. I'm right here, sir. It would take one flick of my wrist to fasten the lasso around your neck and simple tug to end your life.

But Christine's voice stopped me. She was near tears, I could tell. Anguished that her friend didn't believe her, she shook her head almost violently. "Raoul, I've been there! To his world of unending night! To a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness… darkness…" she trailed off, remembering, turning away from him.

"Raoul, I've seen him! I… I can't forget what I've seen, there's no escaping from such a sight. His face… it was hardly a face, I was so very frightened…"

My eyes closed on their own accord. I couldn't bear to hear her saying this. It was true, so very true, she had every right to call me a monster… but it still hurt.

"But…" There was a dreamlike quality to her voice, as if she were in a trance that made me open my eyes and look back at her. She was staring in her space, as if imagining someone there. In her eyes, there was the flicker I saw when I led her down to my home. I still couldn't identify it, but it was important to me.

"His voice…" she whispered, smiling very, very faintly, "His voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound… music was in my mind that night… I felt as if I could fly, as if I had wings, I… I heard as I've never heard before."

Heaven was not too far away. She didn't hate me. She didn't! Hatred couldn't create the wonderful look on her face! It was the music of the night that had helped her soul take off and break free of the limitations of the mortal body! My music!

She could yet be mine, I knew. If only now I could step out of the shadows and take her away from all of this, I would win this yet. I saw her eyes return to reality, however. The effect of bliss was short lasting.

"Yet… in his eyes… there was all the sadness of the world." Her voice was nearing a whisper.

But her face still showed no repulsion, though she must have been picturing my face. It showed a sadness, pity. She felt sorry for me. But I desired her love, not her pity. It was a start, which I could put to good use, but it was not enough for me.

Now, however, I was certain that she cared for me, if only just a little. She saw the darker side of me, but still managed to think of me as of a friend, if not her angel anymore. If she learned to accept me, she could learn to love me.

"Christine, Christine…" Chagny wailed, despairing. He obviously didn't believe a thing she said.

I glared at the boy. If looks could kill, he would be dead. She needed comfort, not accusations! She needed care, not pity! He didn't understand her at all. Christine was mine, I understood her, cared for her, knew all about her, all of her deepest desires and wishes. The loving voice of her angel could perhaps bring her comfort.

Christine­… 

It was almost as if the wind was whispering, but it was my voice, my emotions. Startled, my angel frantically looked around, searching for the source of the voice.

"What was that?" she whispered to herself. She knew the answer. She knew that I was near.

And I knew that if fate was on my side today, the boy wouldn't have embraced her, thus preventing her from running into my welcoming arms. A flicker of hope was rekindled as I saw her clutch the rose I had left her tightly, almost protectively. She was confused now, unsure what my intentions were.

Had I not made it clear that I would never harm her? No, I suppose I didn't. Not when I yelled at her, I didn't. Impulsiveness and temper, be damned! Why couldn't I simply tell her that I loved her? I wasn't an angel, or a phantom, I was just… me. With very little to offer her. But all at my disposal, all I had would be hers, if she wished.

I watched her still. She didn't melt into the boy's embrace. On the contrary, she seemed uncomfortable and anxious. I could only guess what she was thinking, but I can say that her thoughts clearly weren't here on the rooftop. Her mind was trying to reach me somehow, asking the one question I couldn't answer, for many reasons.

Why? 


	12. Chapter 10: Flame

**Author's notes:** Last chapter from Erik's POV (sadly). I enjoy writing him, he is a great character and very fun to write, especially the sarcasm. Anyway, after this, there will be 5 mostly original chapters plus a jump forward to the DOM sequence again before that happens. Then when we get to La Ball Masque, I will be switching 2 or 3 POVs during each chapter until we reach the end.

**starnat** – she was afraid, I think. I mean, think about it: Erik had just murdered a person and a (in her eyes) handsome and trustworthy friend was admitting that he loved her. But it was a betrayal, in a sense.

**Maidenhair**– yay, new reviewer! No, it's not odd. Well, I think you got the heaven thing right. If the souls find the light, then they are ready. Yes, I think so. Anyway, read on!

**Enrinye**– Sorry, Z – singing comes next. Now Erik's gonna be really mad. You're stealing my lines about Buquet:-p Anyway, "bruchomluvectvo" is fine and dandy, but I thought the bottle trick was "haluzne". Anyway, he couldn't have done the ventriloquism while chasing Buquet around, right?

**lady kathrin** – read on, read on!

**longblacksatinlace**– Indeed! Read on!

X X X

**Chapter 11 – Flame **

X X X X

I have never considered myself a strong-willed person when it came to resisting the commands of my temper or the instincts I have learned to trust. The only thing that kept me standing behind that statue, motionless and soundless, was that I wasn't sure if Christine would forgive me a second murder this night, especially if it would be her best friend.

Perhaps it was also my curiosity. What else would she tell the boy? She had already revealed much, though only in general, nothing specified. She didn't strive to betray the secret of the mirror, not even that small thing I could have easily made inaccessible to the world.

She cared for me.

I couldn't explain it otherwise. A frightened child would rush to the ones with more power in the matter; reveal all she knows and let them take care of the rest. Christine didn't. And that intrigued me. I wanted to speak with her as soon as possible, preferably without the boy's presence hindering things. I had no intention of revealing myself to him.

Knowing Christine, she would see that he didn't really understand what she was saying or care about her rightful fear. The boy had no idea what she meant or who she spoke of. Like all the other new people in charge of the Opera – the managers – he didn't believe in my existence. Which was remarkably stupid of him, seeing as I had spoken to the entire Opera not so long ago, announced my presence, repeated my demands and punished them for their disobedience.

The boy, still clinging to Christine in a really pitiful attempt to grant her comfort, tried to speak, adding only more melodrama to the already unnecessarily emotional atmosphere. His words, filled with obvious love for the girl, made my blood boil.

"No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide-eyes fears, Christine. I'm here, nothing can harm you."

The very statement made me want to snort. Yes, nothing could or would harm Christine, due to the fact that the only person they considered dangerous tonight had lost his heart to her long ago. Even in my notes, I had spoken protectively of her, though attempting to maintain a professional outlook on things. Inside, I knew I was pushing her into the limelight not only because of her obvious talent. I was doing it for her happiness, for the simple fact I wanted to see her smile, though she wouldn't find out who got her there. Not yet.

"Christine…" The Vicomte paused for a moment, "Let me be your freedom… let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you. If you will allow me to do so, I will guard you and guide you, help you through these hard times."

With a light frown, Christine stepped away from him. "Raoul… what are you saying?"

I dreaded the answer to that as well. So it had come to this. He was going to say it, I knew. I anticipated it, knowing that one day; simple admiration wouldn't be enough for him. There was simply too much beauty in Christine to avoid attention of others.

"I love you, Christine."

I shut my eyes tight. Not only did his voice, sickeningly sugary, just like his visage, irritate me, no end, but I realized I had given him the perfect chance to claim her. A single yes, uttered in a moment of fear, fear of me, would destroy everything.

To anticipate things can be crushing, for you know your doom is at hand.

"You… love me?" Her eyes seemed to be brightening, clinging to the single hope she saw. "But… Raoul, I am not a noblewoman, you cannot possibly mean that. I…"

"It doesn't matter to me, Little Lotte – nothing does." He interrupted reassuringly. "All I need to know is if you feel the same and I will take you away from these nightmares. We'll be happy together, just as we were before, as children. We were in love back then, but we were children. But I love you still, Christine. I have never wanted anyone else as my wife, other than you." was the blunt confession.

It was the single reassurance Christine needed. Once she knew that the boy wasn't simply toying with her or wanting some sort of amusement but was dedicated to the task of caring for her and securing her by marriage, a melody reached my ears. It was sweet, almost naïve, but clearly loving.

_Say you'll love me every waking moment _

_Turn my head with talk of summertime_

_Say you need me with you now and always_

_Promise me that all you say is true_

_That's all I ask of you _

She was singing. A single plea for love, which any man would have answered gladly… and she sang it for the boy. There would be no goodbyes, no last visits, nothing. She would disappear, without a word, to the world where I couldn't reach her. It wasn't within my power… well, it was, you could say, but the outside world had become foreign to me throughout the years.

I could do really nothing other than stay behind the statue and watch the entire scene. As I expected, the agonizing torment could only increase, for the boy didn't need encouraging. As soon as he knew he had a chance, he caught up with her, mimicking the tune she used as good as he could.

_Then say you'll share with me_

_one love, one lifetime_

_Let me lead you_

_from your solitude_

_Say you need me with you_

_here beside you_

_Anywhere you go_

_let me go to_

_Christine_

_That's all I ask of you _

The single thing that could have made my life worse at that current moment was to hear her voice, loving and with the hint of an enchanting smile, join in the song, with clear devotion. It was sheer force of will that kept me from doing something brash, but I saw, crushed, that even if I would emerge from behind the statue, anything I would do would only make things worse.

_Say you'll share with me_

_one love, one lifetime_

_Say the word_

_And I will follow you_

_Share each day with me_

_Each night, each morning_

_Say you love me…_

…_you know I do_

_Love me_

_That's all I ask of you…_

I couldn't watch anymore. The image was already imprinted into my mind, I hardly paid attention to what happened afterwards. Before my eyes was the image of my angel, my Christine, in the arms of the boy, the accursed Vicomte de Chagny, who had just claimed the first kiss from her lips.

I didn't see anything else. My senses were blocked, too overwhelmed to even register anything. I took notice only of the fact that Christine spoke of a fast flight from the Opera, probably never to return. A fast flight from the "waking nightmares" that awaited her here.

Once the door finally closed behind them, I found the strength to step out of the shadows, the only sound I heard the beating of my own heart. I was surprised it was still beating, actually. It had been broken in a matter of seconds.

I had thought… hoped­… believed that she cared for me. I had trusted her more than anyone in the world, even after her childish curiosity, her fear. I did all in my power to aid her, denied her nothing, worshipped and admired her from afar, never touching her, for I was unworthy of nearing myself to something so pure.

I thought I had mastered the art of torture. Now I saw that I still had much to learn. Christine would be a fine teacher. I was impervious to pain, I thought, but she managed to strip that illusion within less than a minute. I was still vulnerable and she took full advantage of that, however unintentional.

Doing something I had never dreamed of even in my wildest fantasies, I had taken her to my kingdom, offered her my world, my music and wanted to dedicate my life to her happiness. On a golden plate, I had offered her my heart, without second thoughts.

Only to had it returned to me in pieces.

I spotted something crimson on the white mass of the snow and knelt down to pick it up. It was the rose I had given her this evening as encouragement, as proof of the fact she should have faith in her, in me, in us…

During her flight with the boy, she had lost it. Or perhaps she had thrown it away intentionally… no.

_I gave you my music_

_Made your song take wing_

No, Christine wouldn't do that. Christine was frightened. She acted out of fear, not out of love. Self-persuasion was most effective when afraid. And I daresay she had been scared to death by the deeds committed tonight.

_And now, how you've repaid me?_

_Denied me and betrayed me…_

The realization was simple. My heart, though broken, still belonged to her. What a fool I was, you can say, and a masochist at that. Time and time again she had betrayed me and still when she returns, I open my arms to welcome her back, ecstatic, offering her what she had rejected before.

_He was bound to love you_

_When he heard you sing…_

She was mine. A simple trick – playing upon her fear and innocence – wouldn't be enough for the boy to win her over. He might have given her the illusion of safety when outside the Opera, but I knew damned well that Christine would return. Her life was music. Her life was the Opera. And even a Vicomte couldn't change that.

"Christine… Christine…" I whispered, my voice choked with tears. I felt those tiny drops of salty water on my face, sliding down and falling into the snow.

If she only knew how much I loved her, perhaps she would have understood. She would have seen that all this had been only for her. She would have seen past the physical. She would have stayed.

_Say you'll share with me_

_one love, one lifetime_

The careless, naïve singing reached me. I opened my eyes, holding back the sobs that escaped my lips at the thought of what was happening. There was no shame in these tears, for they had a right cause. If I hadn't cried, I daresay the outcome wouldn't have been very pleasing. And certainly not good for anyone's health.

_Say the word_

_And I will follow you_

My self-control was fleeing. I watched the rose in my hand, the simple bloom, a symbol of my love for Christine. I saw her… and then I saw him. I saw the face of the Vicomte de Chagny, the perfect, flawless face. Suddenly, I began squishing the rose without even thinking. My grip was tightening by the moment as I imagined the boy dying a thousand horrible deaths.

_Share each day with me_

_Each night, each morning_

I threw away what remained of the flower. The red petals on the snow seemed to be drops of blood. With morbid satisfaction, I imagined it to be the boy's. This wasn't over. They would return, sooner or later. They both had ties to the Opera.

For now, I would immerse myself in my music, using what I have learned of love and heartbreak to create new music. _Don Juan Triumphant _awaited me and I knew that the work of decades would have to be finished soon. The perfect opera, a spectacle unlike anything the world had ever seen. And in my rage, I set this goal and another – it would be performed.

I never wanted it to be performed, actually, because I didn't think I would be able to finish it the way I wanted to. Now, however, things were different. Don Juan would yet triumph. I would astonish the world with my work and finally achieve peace, calming the burning fires of the score that I held within the depths of my mind. I would release the blazing inferno of my emotions and let all enemies burn.

And Christine, my angel, my Aminta, would perform the lead role. It had been written for her, after all. For her, I would write more music, show her all of myself and give her the final choice. Afterwards, there would be no turning back. We would be past the point of no return…

The idea stayed within my mind. I would write a song, a duet, with that title, for Don Juan and Aminta, for myself and Christine, expressing everything that I couldn't say with normal words.

But, with my mind immersed in fury, I barely thought as I leaped on the statue near the edge of the rooftop, my black cape blowing in the evening wind.

_You will curse the day you did not do_

_All that the Phantom asked of you!_

The deafening roar of my rage was also a mockery of the love song I had heard moments ago. My music would burn all bridges behind us and show the world the true nature of passion. Without a second thought, I disappeared from the rooftop, entering my domain once more.

The organ immediately began playing loud, infuriated music, repeating phrases, editing phrases, simply playing… and, for the first time in years, I suppose, in my mad, frantic state, like a scientist from gothic novels creating a fantastic monster, I was satisfied with my work.

Rage, love, despair, hatred, anguish – all turned into music, no longer the gentle and splendorous music of the night. It was burning, a fire lit by that burning in my soul. That night, I truly felt like Don Juan, who had finally claimed the woman he had sought for years, having found inspiration and literally raped it with my music. Yet tonight wasn't a triumph of Don Juan's.

It was mine.


	13. Intermezzo II: Charon

**Author's notes:** New POV, people! I rather liked it, so here we go, back to DOM for a while. It's still not finished however. And Part II officially begins!

**EriksIngenue** – (insert evil laughter here)

**starnat**– yes, that is right.

**Enrinye**– sure, sure, the EC shipper within me wouldn't allow anything bad, don't worry.

**lady kathrin**** –** sorry, no more Erik right now. His POV will be back, however.

**Maidenhair** – here's the next chapter!

X X X

_Part II: Hell _

**Intermezzo II: Charon **

X X X X

If I live to be a hundred, I shall never truly understand what had transpired that terrible night beneath the Opera Populaire, in the magical lair of the Phantom of the Opera, who, despite being only a single man, managed to keep us all in check for so long.

I have never truly believed in the rumor of a so-called "Phantom" when I first entered the halls of the Paris Opera House. I was interested in art, as was my family, and such a world-renown institution seemed to be clearly worthy of our support, financial and otherwise. Plus, it also had its bonuses for us, because opera was a popular genre among the higher society. It seemed to be a win-win situation.

The fact that I encountered Christine was just another of the miracles that had occurred there. Christine! The angel of my childhood, my best friend, my Little Lotte who had grown into an opera diva! Simply seeing her on stage that night, dressed as a queen and playing the part of one, fully opened my eyes to what I had perhaps been oblivious before.

Childhood sweethearts we might have been, but that was an innocent attraction that could have faded with time. After that night, however, I had made my choice. Once I had been assured that it was indeed her, I had no second thoughts about bringing her flowers and inviting her for dinner. Subconsciously, perhaps, this was the moment I had been waiting for all those years.

I didn't really believe her when she spoke of an Angel of Music. No doubt she was talented – if she thought it was due to an angel of some sort, I wouldn't object. Her father used to tell us wonderful stories of the North and she believed in them. I had no wish to rip away her dreams. I wanted to support them and fulfill them, from the very first moment.

Not even her disappearance made me a believer. I heard voices there… hers and another one. I recognized hers, but the other was unfamiliar. Yet its pure softness and affectionate nature was like liquid gold. Such a voice was more than divine… but, despite all its beauty, it remained a male voice. And when I entered to find the dressing room empty, my concerns arose immediately.

Christine reappeared the next day, after practically the whole town knew that the diva had fled straight after the gala night, to who-knows-where. It caused quite a commotion. The papers had a lot to write about, the patrons were helpless and La Carlotta was having a tantrum after her reappearance.

We had all received notes with specific instructions. They were foreboding somehow, and not just because of the strange handwriting and the blood red ink. At first, it seemed to be just a clever, deep-running joke of some strange prankster. Too soon we learned that the Phantom didn't like to be ignored.

Il Muto… now that was a catastrophe for everyone. Not only did Carlotta croak in the middle of the performance, but Buquet "entered" the stage in a noose. On top of it all, the Phantom had made a shocking appearance and disappearance, warning us all again. There was no doubt that the threatening notes weren't simply sent for a good laugh. The man was deadly serious.

Christine was crushed. Apparently, she thought that the Phantom would kill me if he saw us together, so she led me to the roof hastily, where she proceeded to explain at least a few things to me. Apparently, not only was the Phantom her "angel", but he had also kidnapped her after the performance of Hannibal. Back then, I was willing to ignore everything and calm her. I still didn't fully believe her.

How could I? I had been raised as a rational man, not a ghost-believing coward. It seemed to be a scary story of the ballet rats at first, but the tragedy progressed with increasing speed. How wrong were we to think that after Christine and I promised love to each other, our troubles would end and we would live happily, free from _his_ shadow?

The masquerade… I remember it clearly. Paper faces on parade, they said. The ghost had been gone for months, with no sight or sound of him. Many believed that he had either moved on to another opera house or simply chose to spend his time elsewhere. As long as he wouldn't bother us, I was willing to let him go where he wanted to. I was willing to forget.

And then he came. With contempt in his golden eyes, clad in an elaborate crimson costume and wearing a skull-like mask, he appeared out of nowhere to put us in our places again. All of us – the managers, Carlotta, Piangi, even Christine. I had had enough of it then. But with an amazing trick, he vanished in front of our eyes through a trap door.

What I saw when I jumped in behind him was spectacular and terrifying. It was a mirrored room, without exits. Wherever I looked I saw him. And then, Madame Giry came to rescue me from the prison before something would happen to me. Naturally, the Phantom had made his escape without problems.

After persuading her to speak, Madame Giry told me what she knew. Under any other circumstances, I would say that the story of his life couldn't have been more tragic and there wasn't a person in this world who deserved pity more than him. Due to a disfigured face, he was an outcast of society, doomed to travel the world alone. He went to the most extraordinary places of the planet and built wonders, performed magic… it seemed that there was nothing he couldn't do.

And then, he returned to his homeland, because of his love of music, and helped construct the building I was sitting in. When all was ready, however, he chose solitude rather than frightened stares and disappeared from the face of the earth, allowing only those precious few who had shown him kindness to his underground home. Judging by the extent of his talents, if the Opera was considered a wonder of a building, there must have been an amazing palace buried underneath it.

Why Christine? I kept asking myself that question on and on. Why would a man who had seen so much of the world choose to pretend to be an angel of a chorus girl? If the voice I heard had been his, then because he wanted to tutor her, probably. But there had to be secondary reasons. Christine loved music and that gave them a link. As strange as it was, I believed in my theory.

The Phantom was in love with her.

Unbelievable, I thought at the first moment. But I supposed that even murderers have hearts and at the sight of an angel such as Christine, even cold hearts find it hard to resist. But after all I had heard, I could see that despite this love, his way of claiming her was through manipulation through music. Besides, I loved and love her as well, there was no chance I would surrender and let her face such a nightmare on her own. She needed help, support, I knew, for I could see that alone, she couldn't find the strength to resist.

When she disappeared that morning to the cemetery, I nearly had a heart attack. Visiting her father's grave is important for her, I know, but I was supposed to guard her. Leaving her alone was the worst thing we could have done at the moment, when that monster was after her.

I arrived to Perros just in the nick of time. Even from the distance, I could hear strange singing, entrancing notes that took away her strength. A dark figure in the middle of all of the white, she was walking towards the eerily lit mausoleum, from which the singing seemed to echo.

We escaped that day, but couldn't today. Today was indeed the point of no return, that was the one thing on which I could willingly agree with the Phantom.

Christine, clad in a wedding dress, was despairing, I was tied to the portcullis and he was snarling commands at her, forcing her to choose between the two of us. Either way she would choose, I would die. Either by his hand or of a broken heart.

And then she kissed him! Willingly, she put everything aside and out of pity, she kissed the Phantom, whose horrible face was on full display after she had snatched the mask minutes before. I could only stare, bewildered and shocked, at how far she was willing to go to end this nightmare. She was sacrificing herself… for me.

I don't know what happened to him after she released him. How did she manage to change his mind through her affection, I would never know. But in the next moment, he let her go, looking away, clearly pained.

"Take her, forget me, forget all of this!" he snarled, walking through the water back to his underground chambers.

"Leave me alone! Forget all you've seen!" He never looked back.

Christine rushed to me, untying the ropes that held me in place as quickly as her little fingers allowed her. In the distance, a mob was chanting something. With each moment, the angry voices seemed to be closer.

"Take the boat – swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the Angel in Hell!" His voice was broken as he was sending us away. Only then did I notice the gondola near the bank of the lake. That was probably the way he got past the lake. And if he was letting us have it…

"Go now! Go now and leave me!"

There had to be another way out. The Phantom disappeared from our sight. I finally managed to get out of that accursed rope and embraced Christine tightly. We were free – it was over, he was letting us go. I had no idea why, but he was letting us go.

"Christine," I grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the water to the gondola. "Come on, we have to get out of here, the mob will arrive any minute."

But her gaze was fixed on the place where we had seen the Phantom for the last time, with a strange flicker passing through her eyes. "Raoul… I must go."

"What?" I asked, surprised, as I began untying the gondola.

"I… I have to go see him." she stuttered, "I must."

"Christine, what are you saying? He's letting us go! We're free! Any minute, the mob could arrive!"

"I won't leave just like that, Raoul." She whispered, somehow ashamed.

"You can't go there – he's probably preparing an escape route. They won't catch him, he will be fine, let's just go before the mob arrives!" I said desperately.

But Christine turned to me, with a sudden firmness in her eyes. I had always thought that she was a bit childish and dreamlike, the one who had her head in the clouds. I was happy that she had her dreams, her stories and never bothered to try to pull her back into reality. Her tales of angels and her father's stories were always the light of the long-gone childhood.

But now, she seemed completely mature, with no trace of that naivety that caused her to blindly believe in these tales. Her feet were now on the ground and she completely understood what was happening. She was acutely aware of the presence of the mob, she knew we were free to go, she knew that every wasted second could mean our demise.

Yet still she refused to go, whether it was because of her utter pity for the Phantom or some shame that she rejected and betrayed him. But… did she reject him?

I looked at her, not daring to speak when she was looking at me with such devotion. I had always known there was a bond between herself and her father, a bond through music. That was one reason why his death had affected her so. It seemed that now, after she had arrived to the Opera and began her career there, she transferred this bondage to her relationship with the Phantom, her Angel of Music, who must have been the only companion she relied on throughout the years she had spent in the Opera House.

Their bond was something I knew I couldn't break, no matter how hard I tried. Music was the one thing out of my reach. Perhaps this moment would truly haunt us until we would die if she wouldn't go there and make peace with her past one last time. If it would be the last time.

Deep within me, I sensed that I registered some kind of change within Christine. It wasn't her sudden mature behavior. It seemed to be something I had overlooked in the past and now that it was crystal clear, I could finally see it. It had always been there, I had just been blinded by my own views of the world.

"Then go." I whispered to her. I wanted to say that I would wait, but she knew that I would.

Gathering up her skirts, Christine got out of the water and rushed to the organ, skillfully finding her way. She then entered the chambers where the Phantom had fled and disappeared from sight. I thought I heard a faint sound of cymbals from somewhere, but perhaps it had just been my imagination.

I readied the gondola and waited. Inside, however, I sensed that I was to be the Charon of their love, strange as that love was, and that thought was unsettling. Still, I waited. No matter if I would row back alone or with her, there was no going back for any of us.


	14. Chapter 11: The Lullaby

**Author's notes:** Alright, just one original chapter. I wanted five, but that would drastically slow the story down, so I shortened it into one. Oh, and Raoul turned out hard to write. What can I say, writing original stuff from a POV I don't necessarily like is hard.

**Enrinye** – I took your advice, Z. No more Raoul POV. No, it isn't over yet…

**starnat**– you know it ;)

**lady kathrin** – thanks:)

**EriksIngenue**– sorry for the long wait. Too many phics out there… and I've started a third one! My God, how will I manage…

**Maidenhair** – merci!

X X X

**Chapter 11 - The Lullaby**

X X X X

The rest of the performance of Il Muto went by quietly. Almost unnaturally, you could say, considering the massive events that had happened minutes previously. Nevertheless, it was a stupendous performance, just as the production of Hannibal, once La Carlotta was off the cast list and the scene.

Christine, dressed in the same pink gown (missing only the gigantic wig her predecessor wore) was simply glamorous. There was nothing that could make it seem plainer that she was the image of perfection, in my eyes and the eyes of the rest of the audience. She gave the role of the Countess charm and appeal, but lacked the arrogance Carlotta put into it, therefore made a loveable heroine.

My smile grew warmer at the thought of the moments on the rooftop. Ever since Hannibal, I knew that I loved her. There was no question about it. When we were children, all that talk of marriage seemed so unreal, but now, I knew that there was no one in the world I would want to marry besides Christine. The fact that the love seemed to be mutual made the day probably the happiest of my life.

Who cared about some theater, if my Little Lotte cared for me? True, perhaps she was simply scared, but her feelings seemed real, especially when she asked me to wait for her and take her away from the seemingly cursed opera house. There had been far too many incidents, it was no wonder that she needed rest and time away from it. It would only do her good, being gone from the stress and the misfortune that had befallen the theater.

Once the curtain fell, the audience clapped wildly, all fear of the "Phantom" forgotten. Joseph Buquet´s corpse had long since been taken away, Carlotta was probably crying her eyes out on Piangi´s shoulder, the strange voice that threatened the crowd was gone – the Phantom, if they chose to believe in him, had retreated.

Most of all, however, they applauded the newly rising star, Christine. I don't think they even considered that the managers would be keeping Carlotta after such a fiasco – the post of Prima Donna was now free, and it seemed ideal in their minds that Christine should take it. That, however, wasn't our plan. I would have advised against it anyway, so I was happy that she chose to leave willingly.

It took her an unnaturally short time to change and collect her belongings. As an orphan, I knew she probably didn't have possessions larger than what you could put in a suitcase that even a lady could carry with ease, but she changed out of her costume and into a normal dress and cloak far too quick. No woman would manage that under normal circumstances.

Even when she emerged, she seemed nervous, like a child entering a new world, and scared, as if the gate was closing right behind her and she could never return to the old one. She smiled, however, obviously happy that I had kept my promise. It was only natural, however. I loved her and as an aristocrat, had the opportunity to arrange transportation far quicker than perhaps a regular opera guest.

Once Christine's luggage was safely in the carriage and I helped her climb into it, we left the Opera Populaire behind us. Christine didn't even look back, but seemed to relax slightly, as if she had run a mile and now was trying hard to catch her breath and prepare to wave at the crowds.

I explained to her that we would be heading for the family estate, that it wasn't far and the journey would probably be quiet. Overall, she herself was very quiet throughout the journey. Always she was looking out of the carriage windows, watching the streets, the people, the river, once it came into view… but she didn't speak at all. She remained there physically, though her mind was elsewhere.

Having left the disaster of a night behind me already, I assumed she was simply trying to calm herself down and relax. After all, seeing a fellow performer simply croak on the stage must have been very strange. Perhaps she had feared the same would happen to her… perhaps she feared that another corpse would land on the stage. Neither had happened.

Of course, whoever had written the letters addressed to the management, the ex-leading lady and myself had to be satisfied. Christine had sung the lead role, a ballet girl had taken up the part of the pageboy (Carlotta was too traumatized to even show her face to the crowd again). Box 5 remained occupied and the ridiculous salary to the "ghost" had been ignored, but one of the commands had been obeyed.

The carriage continued through the night. For a moment, I thought I heard something. Then I realized it was Christine, humming a song, probably a lullaby. I smiled to myself and paid no more attention.

X X X

Months had passed since the events in the Opera Populaire. Christine and I remained together, living in the estate. Never again was anything related to the theater mentioned. Then came a sunny day when I believed the time was right. After all, it was almost official that we had courted for quite a while, and I had no urgent desire to wait any longer.

I proposed to her. And she accepted.

Things couldn't have been better. We were getting along together perfectly, life was just like one large pleasant dream. There was nothing that could go wrong with things. Nothing at all. Not even the letter that came one day could ruin things for us.

La Ball Masque.

The Opera Populaire was going to have a masquerade, reopening months after the last sighting of the "Phantom". From what I knew, they had started a new production after Il Muto, and nothing went wrong. Months of peace, of no disturbing, no notes, no Phantom. Perhaps God had decided to award the world with happiness. I didn't know how else to explain the rush of luck that had flooded us.

Christine was thrilled when I told her of the invitation. She had even gone so far as to begin selecting a costume. Now she was far happier than she had been when she had arrived, all horror of the past forgotten. Nothing in the world could ruin things.

It was the night before the masquerade that I went to check upon her before going to bed myself. She had told me she wished to read a bit before turning off the lights, and I allowed her. But her room was empty, with no sight that anyone had come there. For the first minutes, I was very frightened that something had happened to her. But then some of the servants had told me they had seen her going outside.

I frowned. A walk? At this time? I knew Prima Donnas had their unusual habits, but this seemed strange.

I ran out of the house, literally, and went to search for her. She wasn't that far away. There was a small park near the estate, there was even a small lake in the middle, but Christine had chosen to sit on the very edge of the grounds, looking down on the city of Paris, or rather, so it seemed at first glance. She was in her nightgown, with a robe and a cloak over it. Curled on the bench, she was looking up at the stars, smiling.

"Christine!" She flinched at the sound of her name, startled, and her eyes rested on me. visibly, she relaxed.

"You scared me there, Raoul, sneaking up on me like that."

"Sneaking out of the house after dark isn't a good idea, Christine." I counseled her, "Especially when you want to go to the park, at least tell me. I don't want anything happening to you. I want to guard you and guide you, remember?"

With a slight sigh, she nodded, but then resumed her staring at the sky. "I simply wanted some fresh air and to see the stars. They are beautiful… it is a beautiful night." It was almost as if she were in a trance, as if it wasn't really her speaking.

"I seem to remember you being afraid of the dark, Little Lotte." I noted jokingly.

"The night doesn't mean the dark, Raoul." she noted seriously. Another sigh, a heavy one, this time. "Sometimes the darkness can be alluring… and even those afraid of it have to wonder what it would be like, to be part of it."

"Don't say such things, Christine." I said, slightly surprised she would speak that way, "Thoughts like that make me worry for you. I don't want you to think you're alone, even in the darkness."

"I am never alone." She whispered, then looked at me. It was almost as if she wasn't going to say what she added a moment later. "You are always with me. You promised that you would be."

"And I will be."

I sat down next to her, embracing her tightly. She didn't struggle, but she didn't return the embrace. She simply seemed to accept it as something she couldn't really change and remained sitting there. Then, out of the blue, she asked: "Do you like the night, Raoul?"

"You said it was a beautiful night – I agree."

"No, I mean night in general."

I almost frowned. The night? Like it? I always viewed the night as the most dangerous part of the day. It was a time when the worst of the worst emerged from their hiding places, and I certainly wasn't in favor of such habits. The night had always symbolized darkness, loneliness, at least to me.

Many people look differently at night. Most associate it with mythical creatures of evil, such as vampires, werewolves, ghosts… indeed, those were hardly symbols of good. Then there were those who adored the moon and stars. Lovers, for reasons romantic, scientists, for reasons scientific, and many others, who found no comfort in daylight. Stars were the symbol of eternity, of unending time and space. In a sense, a starlit night was beautiful… but night without stars, night meaning the utter night…

"I prefer the daytime." I said solemnly. "The dark doesn't scare me, but I always feel more secure when I can see the light. Night is often associated with darkness, Christine, and not only darkness as the absence of light. It's better to think of it as something you can't avoid and can survive. Humans are not nocturnal – at least, most are not. They are naturally drawn to the sun. So no, I suppose I don't like the night, in general."

Christine, from what I could see of her, had an almost blank expression on her face. She was studying me carefully, as if judging me, but seemed a bit sad. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled, but I didn't see that the expression wasn't reflected in her eyes, which remained pitying, almost regretting.

"I see. I can understand that."

Afterwards, she said nothing, but continued gazing at the sky with a daydream glint in her eyes. Absent mindedly, she smiled occasionally, but it disappeared before I could even notice the hint of it.

I had no idea what she was thinking of that night.

Had I known more of what had happened inside the depths of her mind in the moment when she questioned me about the night and its effect on me, perhaps I would have been more careful. Perhaps, had I not been so excited about our future together, I would have remembered that she had once said that she had entered a world of unending night, a world where the daylight dissolved into darkness until no more was left…

I knew nothing of that.

Smiling at her, almost teasingly, I nudged her gently. "Come on, Little Lotte, bedtime. It's late to be up."

"Five minutes and I'll go back to my room." She promised.

Nodding, I stood up and left her there. I didn't glance back the whole time, but as I saw the house return into view, I thought I heard the hint of a melody reach my ears. It was so faint, I could hardly hear it, but then I realized it was Christine singing. Once more she sung the song I had heard in the carriage. Beautiful and alluring, it seemed to be unworldly, ethereal, each word consisting of the starry sky.

_Nighttime sharpens…_


	15. Chapter 12: La Ball Masque et

**Author's notes:** Sorry for the long wait, I didn't have much inspiration and I had a lot of work to do. School starts soon, and I'll have a lot of things to do then, so I don't know how often I'll be able to update.

**DarkMoonLightBright**– I will, don't worry. Here you go!

**Enrinye**– (shrugs) here is the next chapter… tell me what you think!

**EriksIngenue**– I didn't quite get that… you want me to write a book? Heh, I'll think about it. It's nice to see the story has such an effect on you.

**lady kathrin** – thanks!

**squishmich **– thanks, I like the Mirror scene too, but my favorite is definitely MotN.

X X X

**Chapter 12: La Ball Masque et La Mort Rouge **

X X X

Shimmering lights, flashing colors, a whirlpool of laughter. There is no person in sight that could even remotely be classified as clad in everyday clothes. The song of the night choruses, gowns of all sorts fill the main hall of the Opera Populaire. Tonight, all that used to be normal is gone. Tonight, we trade the faces we wear in the grayish world of our lives for masks that are sometimes more believable than those we must wear forever. Tonight, you are not who you are during the day.

Tonight, you are a mask… hiding your face, so the world will never find you.

La Ball Masque was probably the best way to begin a new season in the Opera house. Truly, after the horrors the staff and the management had experienced months previously, there could be nothing more relaxing than a masquerade, a cheery night celebrating… everything. All the crème de la crème of Paris was invited, even the staff had the right to party – if only in the backstage of the theater.

Christine and I didn't arrive late, but we preferred to watch the spectacle in front of us, around us, before joining in the dance. The main hall of the Opera Populaire had been decorated for the occasion, every bit of the place was shining with cleanness. Everyone who meant something in the theater business was there – surprisingly, even La Carlotta had decided to arrive, forgetting (if only for a moment) the croaking incident during Il Muto, which had been the talk of the town for a long time.

We were probably the least masqueraded pair of all of the crowd. I was in a blue military uniform, without a mask this time, and Christine wore a wonderful dress of pale pink, with a matching rose in her hair and one tied to her waist. She had a mask, but currently, it wasn't attached to her face, but held in her hand.

To me, the night was also a celebration of our engagement. After a while of gathering courage to ask, I did so, and I got a positive answer after only a brief hesitation. Nevertheless, for some strange reasons, Christine insisted that we keep the engagement a secret and refused to wear the ring I gave her on her hand. Rather, she attached it to a golden chain, which she wore around her neck. The ring seemed more like a locket or a medallion now.

After a while, I asked her to dance – the melody of the song had just changed into a waltz. She agreed, smiling. The secret engagement seemed to be much to her liking, but she wouldn't answer me when I asked her why we must conceal the truth like this. Whenever I mentioned it within the walls of the Opera, she seemed to grow jumpy.

"Christine, you're free." I insisted, "What are you afraid of?"

Biting her lip slightly and casting the surroundings a somewhat worried glance, she shook her head. "You will understand in time, Raoul. Please, let's not fight and wait… for now."

Though not thoroughly convinced that she was telling me the whole truth, I took her hand and guided her across the dancefloor, where we joined the crowd and waltzed our way past them, until finally, I managed to kiss her unexpectedly. She almost jumped again, then gave a shaky smile and we continued dancing.

It was as if she thought even the walls had ears.

X X X

It was a mistake coming here tonight, I realized that too late. Whenever I glance around and move my gaze away from Raoul, my heart stops for a second when my eyes deceive me and I think I see _him_. I have not forgotten, far from it. The thought only makes me grasp Raoul´s hand tighter. He is the only safe ground in the blackness in which I can drown, if I don't watch my step.

The impulsiveness with which I accepted his marriage proposal doesn't fill me with regret, however. Whatever has happened or will happen, I have always loved and will always love Raoul. What I fear is the identification of that love, seeing if it's the love a wife holds for her husband… or something far more platonic. But madness would surely follow if I would forsake the only thing I am sure of in my life – and that is that I care for him.

In the long months outside the Opera Populaire, I had not been unhappy – far from it. my every need or desire was tended to, I lived like a true queen… and yet, something was missing. I later realized that it was music, thus I began singing to myself at times, be it lullabies, opera arias, or _his_ songs… strangely, though, I found that I memorized each word he had said to me from the moment I entered his underground realm.

Fear was what I felt most of the time ever since then. Ever since my curiosity got the better of me. strangely, I was more scared of his terrible temper than of his face. It altered everything and yet, somehow, I found myself not caring. Until the moment of that horrible night when he revealed just how far he could go to achieve his own ends.

Raoul became my safe haven, my rock, someone I could always count on. I knew that if I would leave with him, my Angel would soon find out. But I couldn't do anything else. I needed the choice taken out of my hands, I couldn't fight the determination and loving promises Raoul drowned me in. Out of reach of the hypnotizing voice, I submitted and left.

Now, back in the theater, I found myself wondering what had happened in the days of my absence. From what I heard, there had been no sighting of the Opera Ghost for months. I didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened. Again, I couldn't make that choice. Instead, I tried to focus all my energy on the dancing, on the wonderful ballroom and the amusing masks around me.

We stopped dancing, observing the performers for a moment, laughing joyfully. My mind had almost accepted the fact that tonight would be something I would count as a happy, cheerful memory. There were lights everywhere… and then, all went dark. For a moment, none of us could see anything, our eyes not accustomed to the darkness. Then, however, everyone seemed to notice that one spot of the room was still lit.

My blood seemed to freeze. I suppose I knew before I had any confirmation. From head to toe clad in the colors of blood, with ornamental golden embroidery, a tall, raven-haired man appeared on the top of the stairs. What surprised many was that he was armed, seeing the rapier at his side. Like everyone else, he was masked, but it seemed more like someone had cut off the flesh and skin off his face, leaving a skull. Gleaming golden eyes observed the ballroom with contempt, standing out like stars in the dark of the night, because what else we could see of his skin was painted black. As he descended down the stairs, the trail red fabric gently flowed behind him, like fresh blood.

"Why so silent, good Messieurs?" the Red Death asked softly, almost amused. Resonating throughout the whole hall was a voice that even angels would envy.

It was him.

X X X

It seemed that not only was my sudden arrival a surprise to all, but I then realized that I have come without a mask. Everyone was masquerading… but I had come as myself. Not that any of the fools would realize it. My appearance seemed to have frightened and stunned them at the same time. I hadn't been expecting any other response, but that didn't stop me from glancing around with grim satisfaction.

They really had no imagination, these petty Parisian snobs. Black and white and gold – the only three colors they seemed to know. There were only hints of shades on their costumes, but otherwise, they were utterly boring. All the better for me, perhaps, though my attire would have gotten attention even in a crowd of red-clad people.

Spotting my victims in the crowd was more than easy. My visit here had a grander purpose than just putting them in their place and showing them that they should be careful with their assumptions – a long-term absence didn't mean anything. Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it's not there. Not that these idiots knew anything about philosophy.

"Did you think that I had left you for good?" I asked idly, reading the answer from their expressions. Even a note from me would have shocked them thoroughly. A personal visit was more than scare them out of their heads.

"Have you missed me, good Messieurs?" I didn't wait for an answer – it was the same as before, and I had no time to amuse myself with their good imitations of freshly caught fish. "I have written you an opera!"

For all these months, I had been composing. True, Don Juan had been nearly finished, but it was only then that I grasped the true nature of what I was writing of, thus I had to rewrite several crucial parts, change some events, and adapt a more realistic view of things. Now, finally, after sleepless weeks and countless of rage fits, I managed to finish it. or, at least, the music was now what I had hoped it would be.

"Here I bring the finished score – Don Juan Triumphant!" Slamming the score at the ground, I drew my weapon to emphasize my points. I had to force those idiots to cooperate. "Fondest greetings to you all. A few instructions just before rehearsals start. Carlotta must be taught to act." The diva gave off the best fish imitation of the night, even more so when I messed up her goofy hat. "Not her normal trick of strutting round the stage." Piangi moved towards me angrily, but stopped short when I poked him with the tip of the rapier – he obviously didn't fancy being a roast pig yet. "Our Don Juan must lose some weight – it's not healthy for a man of Piangi´s age. And my managers must learn that their place is in an _office, not the arts._" Like Piangi, both of them drew back at the sight of a weapon at the ready.

At last, I holstered my rapier. She deserved to be frightened tonight, yes, to be pained and unhappy, as I have been…­ but when I spotted her in the crowd, I couldn't bring myself to threaten her.

"As for our star… Miss Christine Daaé." I began, for the first time, not mockingly.

X X X

My feet were frozen to the ground. Raoul had left me. for what reason, I didn't know or care. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat, I couldn't speak. I was terrified of what would happen. I knew he would notice me sooner or later, and I would be punished for deserting him, without a word of goodbye, without an apology for unmasking him and being so frightened of him, when he had tried so hard to make me see what others could not.

"No doubt she'll do her best." He continued, but looked away from me, as if addressing the whole crowd. There was something strange about his voice, however. "It's true, her voice is good. She _knows_, though, should she wish to excel, she has _much _still to learn." Again, his eyes found me, and I was finally able to identify the emotion I sensed from him as possessiveness. "If pride would let her return to me – her teacher…" But he seemed to be losing the will to punish me, when he looked at me again. "Her teacher…"

the whole crowd must have been looking at us, but it seemed as if there was truly no one there. Several steps above me, he seemed to be drawing shallow breaths, but suddenly couldn't find any air. What possessed me to move forward, I don't know, but I felt my lips form a bewildered but joyful, hesitant but yearning, smile. The closer I moved towards him, the less he seemed to be able to speak, let alone breathe.

I stopped only a step away from him, now unafraid.

X X X

Time had stopped, the world ceased to exist. Still I was unable to comprehend that Christine was approaching me on her own accord, without fear or hate or disgust, or anything else I was used to seeing on the faces of those who knew too well what lied beneath the mask I wore for completely different reasons than the rest of the people here. For them, it was a joke, fun. For me, it was an escape, a necessity.

Yet Christine drew closer, as if nothing had happened, as if it was merely another lesson with her Angel. And for a divine moment, I believed it as well. A thousand things I wished to then, though I knew I would have to take my leave very soon, and none of these involved leaving her there with the boy.

A flicker of gold caught my eye. Something was around her neck, I noticed, looking down from her face for a second. Following the chain almost to the fabric of her dress, I saw a sparkling diamond ring resting on her chest proudly, a mark of an engagement, without a doubt. Crushing reality returned without warning, as did my fury. How dare she! Without a second thought, I tore the chain from her neck. She would not marry that boy… I would yet have my say in this matter.

"Your chains are still mine – you belong to me!" I hissed at her, stormed away, and, in a flash of light and fire that must have alarmed the crowd greatly, I disappeared from their sight.

X X X

I only saw the end of the terrible scene, but I knew I must act. It took me longer than I anticipated to get my rapier. I returned just in time to see flames surround the man who was now alarmingly close to Christine. Knowing that he couldn't have disappeared without a trace just like that, I jumped into the pit straight in the middle of the floor. It closed behind me swiftly.

The room I landed in was dark, but only until I noticed that all the walls are covered with mirrors. The purpose of this contraption remained hidden to me until my adversary glared at me from one of the mirrors. It was just a reflection, I knew, but desperation began rushing through my mind when he disappeared, then reappeared, and once more, multiplied six times in the mirrors.

I didn't know where to strike first, what to do, and my mind was beginning to get alarmed. What was this room? What was its purpose? I abandoned a hope of finding him in his own realm. But then, just as I was about to try a different way of searching, a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned sharply, but then relaxed, even though she pulled me out of the room by the hand quickly.

Madame Giry had come to save me.


	16. Chapter 13: Hearts of ice

**Author´s notes:** This took long… sorry. School, ya know the drill. Anyway, I changed the tense in this chapter somewhat, hope it´s okay...

**Mominator –** Hehe, not telling! Read on!

**Twinkle22** – thanks! Here it is!

**Enrinye –** Thanks, Z. Anyhow, here you go!

**EriksIngenue **– Don't worry

**Maidenhair** – I will. ;-)

X X X

**Chapter 13 – Heart of ice**

X X X X

From that moment on, there was not a second when I wasn't accompanied by someone, most often Raoul, no moment I had for myself… I couldn't even leave my room for some fresh air, because my fiancé would immediately tell me that it´s too dangerous for me to wander outside while an obsessed murderous blackmailer is on the loose.

I do not see the Phantom as a monster, however, though all the people around me do. Knowing the secret of his face has made me pity him above all else. Nevertheless, I know I must not risk anything. Still… I feel an urge to talk to my father. To visit his grave, at least once, before we would start the rehearsals. I will need strength for what is to come… whatever it is.

I can´t sleep. Ever since the night of the masquerade, I constantly fear he might come for me and steal me away back into his dark world. Moreover, I fear that I shall remain trapped there forever, not because of his cruelty, but because of my inability to reject him completely and utterly. Imprisoned by my lingering pity and ever-growing fascination, I need guidance more than ever.

Early in the morning, I sneak past Raoul – the poor fellow had fallen asleep on "watch duty", as he calls it, but I don't blame him. He is as nervous as I, concerned for my safety far more than he would admit to anyone. I slip past him quietly, only a cloak wrapped over my nightgown, as I go down to secure a carriage to the cemetery.

The driver, an aged and stubby man, accepts the money and politely inquires where I wish to go. I tell him of the cemetery and return to the building to change. In the nearest vase, fresh roses catch my eyes. each has an identical satin black ribbon tied around it finely, with almost frightening precision. When one withers, I find a new one. Each day, there are more.

Dressed all in black, I return to the carriage. My mind is far away, however, all I notice is that the driver is wrapped in a black cloak, and even that thought enters my thinking very briefly before disappearing again.

"To my father´s grave, please." I say tonelessly, in a hollow voice. I receive no reply, but for a moment feel eyes on me, as if he was wondering why I would choose a morning like this for a journey to the cemetery. Nevertheless, I feel the horses start galloping through the snow.

The journey could have taken a few minutes or possibly several days – I know not and care not. In the back of my mind, music sounds again. music I have not heard for months, and I desperately try to shut it out of my mind.

_In sleep he sang to me…_

_In dreams he came…_

_That voice which calls to me…_

_And speaks my name…_

Is it possible to be disloyal to a man simply by thinking of another? I refuse to believe that the feelings I hold for the Phantom of the Opera are signs of a romantic love. It is pity, and grief… compassion. Some say compassion is unconditional love. After all I have been through, I am inclined to believe it.

How could one not pity that so much talent, such capacity to do good, would be forever lost to the world, simply because the prejudice the archaic minds of men hold against anyone who is different, be it for good or ill? Almost like a witch-hunt… as if we were still living in the Middle Ages. Almost as if people didn't know that the Lord tells us to be forgiving…

Alone, I descend from the carriage. Snow is underneath my feet, the scene of winter reflecting what is happening inside me. I don't know why I came here… I want to let go, not to mourn anymore, but at the same time, it pains me to abandon what is dear to me. clutching the bouquet of roses in my hands tighter, I begin my journey through the sea of tombs and statues.

X X X

I wake up with a start as some loud sound from bellow reaches me. too late I realize that the door to Christine´s bedroom is ajar, her bed empty. Her nightgown lies there as well – she has left the Opera Populaire. Rushing to the window, I come just in time to see a carriage with black horses and a dark-clad driver leave, like Charon who is taking a soul down to Hades.

That itself is an ill omen, and I immediately race downstairs, only to find an aged man rubbing the back of his head, as if he had been hit there, hard. Despite my haste, I realize with horror that it probably is the former owner of the departed carriage.

His reply to my query of the carriage´s destination doesn't ease my thoughts, even though I am quite certain where to look for Christine. Hopefully, my fears are unfounded, and the creature doesn't have a large head start. Hopefully, the carriage will indeed stop at the cemetery, and not continue its journey… wherever he could take my beloved Christine.

The thought of her, defenseless, at his mercy, grants me a newfound strength. The cold evaporates, though I am lightly clad, as I seize a white stallion and ride as fast as possible to the Perros graveyard.

X X X

My heart is breaking at the sight in front of me.

Alone she wanders in the cool of winter´s chill, white as the snow underneath her feet, her eyes heavy with suppressed tears. Her hands tremble even as she walks, her soft voice shaking slightly with emotion. The image of grief, that is how I see her now. Grief in its utter perfection.

Far away from anyone, my power over her might prove stronger than her ties to anything else. Here, there isn´t anyone to twist her thoughts and implant falsehoods into her naïve mind. The graveyard is silent, and the only figures around are the angels of stone surrounding her. She is undoubtedly the fairest of them. Her place is not on this earth, but among the heavens.

She sings a mourning song, slowly passing other tombs and graves, her eyes lingering on the statues, but her mind elsewhere, wandering… finally, she reaches the monumental mausoleum dedicated to Gustave Daaé. By then, I have had quite enough time to prepare myself for her arrival and create once more the illusion of the Angel of Music, though now there is no mirror I can hide behind.

_Wandering child _

_So lost, so helpless _

_Yearning for my guidance…_

As soft as I can manage, restraining myself from rushing to her at once, I call to her from my hiding place. With satisfaction, I watch her head quickly rise at the sound of a familiar voice, but there is uncertainty, anxiety in her reply.

_Angel or father?  
Friend or Phantom?  
Who is it there, staring?_

Her gaze searches for me, but I am well hidden. Quietly, slightly sadly, I sing back to her.

_Have you forgotten your Angel? _

At this final confirmation, she immediately struggles to stand up, her face lighting up. Only I know how to form such happiness on her face through the simplest of gestures. She reacts quickly, now desperate.

_Angel, oh speak!  
What endless longings_

_Echo in this whisper?_

Slowly, carefully, my voice draws her closer to the tomb. The lights within ignite themselves – I have had more than enough time to prepare.

_Too long you´ve wandered in winter…_

_Far from my far-reaching gaze…_

A light frown appeared on Christine´s face – she was clearly struggling between the loyalty to her fiancé and the yearning to see her Angel again. and here and now, I was quite certain which impulse would win.

_Wildly my mind beats against you… _

_Yet the / your soul obeys!_

_Angel of Music!  
I´ve / You´ve denied me!  
Turning from true beauty!_

_Angel of Music!  
My protector/ Do not shun me!  
Come to me_

_Strange Angel!_

At that very moment, all of her resistance crumbled. No longer able or willing to resist, she mechanically moved towards the tomb. The doors swung open as she approached, like welcoming arms. In a matter of moments, she would be mine…

_I am your Angel of Music…_

_Come to me, Angel of Music…_

"Wait!" A voice bellowed from behind her, "Christine, wait!"

Gritting my teeth, my eyes followed the white stallion and its rider that came into view. Christine, mere feet away from the tomb, seemed to break free of the trance and quickly turned to the boy, completely bewildered.

"Raoul!"

"Whatever you may believe, this man, this… thing… is not your father!" the boy said desperately, clutching her shoulders, trying to wake her up, it seemed. "Let her go! For God's sake, let her go!" he called, presumably to me.

I couldn't take this anymore. The boy would not ruin this attempt. Menacingly, I'm certain, I stepped out from my hiding place, a twisted grin on my face as I called out to the boy: "Bravo, Monsieur! Such spirited words!"

Whipping out a pike with a skull-shaped end, I shoot a fireball at him without further ado.

X X X

For the first time, I saw my adversary up close. Though I despised the very thought of him, I had to admit that Le Fantôme de L´Opera in his full glory was quite the sight. He was a tall raven-haired man in clothing worthy of a very wealthy nobleman, half of his face covered by a strange porcelain-white mask. Underneath it, I could se two cat-like yellow eyes gleaming at me eerily.

The first fireball was a warning shot – I could read it in those strange eyes. Leave her or die. They said clearly. Well, I would rather die than leave Christine, so I stalked towards him, attempting to be fearless on the outside. I knew that while he might have been far older than myself, the Phantom also looked more agile than myself.

"More tricks, Monsieur?" I asked, trying to remain calm. I was on the verge of drawing my rapier, really. He was infuriatingly calm, almost amused. I could see that he was fighting the impulse to laugh in my face, clearly thinking that I was no challenge for him.

"Let´s see, Monsieur, how far you dare go!" He challenged, beckoning me closer. For the first time, I noticed that while he was enraged and clearly every inch as dangerous as Madame Giry had described him during out meeting, his voice was nothing short of divine.

When the ballet mistress rescued me from the mirror room, I pressed her for answers. She gave some… clearly, she knew the Phantom. She actually knew his name. Erik, she said he was called. Surname either forgotten or never received.

Born near Rouen, he traveled across Europe and Asia since the age of eleven, first with his gypsy captors after he ran away from home, then alone. Served the shah of Persia for a few years before the ruler decided he knew too much and could create even more spectacular things for other rulers that would reward him far more richly. Returned to France, helped build the Opera… became the Opera Ghost, for he no longer desired company.

Until he heard - and saw - Christine…

"More deception! More violence!"

"Raoul, no!" Christine shrieked. Whether because she didn't want me hurt of because she didn't want him hurt was hard to tell.

"That's right, that's right, Monsieur keep walking this way!" the Phantom jeered, the fireballs landing right in front of me. he clearly didn't mean to hit me, only scare me and made me turn away. I didn't.

"You can't win her love by making her your prisoner!" I yelled. For the first time, he seemed to freeze momentarily.

"Raoul, don't…!"

"Stay back!" I called to Christine. That broke his hesitation completely, and the fireballs were missing me only by inches now.

"I'm here, I'm here, Monsieur: the Angel of Death! Come on, come on, Monsieur! Don't stop, don't stop!" he jeered. As if we were playing some fun game, really.

"Raoul! Come back!" Christine rushed towards me and pulled me away just as I was almost at the Phantom´s feet. I decided to comply this time, and we dashed away, pulling the stallion with us as we raced through the gravestones.

"DON´T GO!" A desperate but still divine voice bellowed into the blizzard. But we held each other tightly, ignoring it just like the wind, and immediately left.

X X X

I remained standing there, frozen, though not by the weather. She left… she left on her own accord… she pulled the boy back… it could have all been over now, she wouldn't have done it if she… if she…

My world darkened as if a giant shadow had fallen upon it. all the joy and grief I felt when I saw her seemed to evaporate, leaving only a burning anger that could turn into a murderous rage very, very soon.

"So be it." I spat quietly, whispering, "Now let it be war upon you both."


	17. Chapter 14: Flesh and blood

**Author's notes:** Only a few more chapters to go… the long-awaited Don Juan is here! And wish me luck, people... I might be singing Christine this Tuesday, if my vocal coach decides I'm ready for it – she said I'd be doing PotO soon, if I keep up. I'm singing With One Look from Sunset Boulevard, but I might get a new song to learn. And, less pleasant, I have major exams on Wednesday and Thursday...

**EriksIngenue** – (cannot answer that question) I liked the musical version of this scene far better, too. Yes, I liked the moment of hesitation as well!

**All That Remains** – indeed!

**Morleigh**– thank you, read on!

**Enrinye**– heh, I know you dislike WYWSHA. I didn't have time for it anyway, not in this story. Yes, PonR it is!

**Maidenhair** - 'Erik lives in teh underland with giant bats and stays behind the cursed grill of Jupiter'? (fit of laughter)

**Twinkle22** – thank you, here's more!

X X X

**Chapter 14 – Flesh and blood**

X X X X

My thoughts remained uneasy as I prepared myself for the beginning of the next rehearsal. I don't want to do this, I don't! I am too afraid… and even Raoul´s words of comfort cannot grant me peace. I know better than he the dangers this plan involves. He can't imagine the wrath I will face if _he_ captures me again.

The anger and anguish in his eyes when I snatched the mask still haunts me… as do his words of love that echo in my mind when I am awake, they invade my dreams. In sleep he sings to me… in dreams he comes… and I am defenseless against the power of his voice, the voice that makes me forget the horror of his face, the fear I feel whenever I think I sense his burning eyes on me.

Despite my fear, I know that I must go on. Raoul is right… I must perform in Don Juan, even though I dread the premiere. Other than dreading him, I dread the songs. I have never seen anything more complicated in my life. If I weren't terrified, I would be awed, probably. One does not compose such a work overnight. It must have taken months, years, perhaps.

Rehearsals are routine now. I know that he won't show himself, but I can feel those eyes that can threaten and adore at the same time, that seduce by fear, watching, unseen, somewhere close. Piangi might not be the image of Don Juan, but I dare not even repeat the blasphemous thoughts that enter my mind when I search for an answer to the question who would be ideal for the part.

I sing the songs dispassionately, as Monsieur Reyer constantly reminds me and tells me that I have to feel the role. Yet I cannot… the feeling of dread refuses to vanish… as does the echo of the cursed angel's voice singing in my head the lines that could have been composed by Lucifer himself, for all their meaning.

_You have come here…_

X X X

Letting Christine out of my sight during these days would be foolish, thus I come to every rehearsal. Painful as it is to hear her perfect voice afraid, we must continue. Nowadays, however, she seems to have accepted the fact that she has to perform in order for the plan to succeed.

I dare not admit to myself that we are using her as bait. I would never put Christine in danger, never. But out future and perhaps our lives depend on it. If we manage to end this now, it will be over. If not… as I told her, the Phantom would haunt us until the end of time.

The music, for all its beauty, is distinctively packed with emotions, not least of all, passion and anger. I believe I can guess how that music came to be, in the aftermath of Christine's departure from the Opera Populaire months ago. The lyrics were nothing short of vulgar to the civilized viewer. But then again, what about Don Juan wasn't vulgar? In that sense, the opera was indeed perfect.

Time and time again I listened to Christine singing, but I was always on the lookout for any sign of our clever hidden friend. Yet he didn't show himself once, notes came scarcely and then not at all, which could only mean one – he was satisfied with the way things were going.

The night of the performance, the managers and I personally sat in opposing boxes, those closest to the stage. The house was going to be full – they had advertised Don Juan Triumphant as the Phantom's opera, and it worked. All of the crème de la crème of Paris wanted to see it; they wanted to know more of the legendary Opera Ghost, of whom all who had at least once visited the theater knew.

There was no time to even give Christine words of comfort before the show started. The sets were lavishly decorated with props resembling fire, flames, and there was a whole ring of fire in the middle of the stage. A bridge above the stage with two spiral staircases was needed for the biggest aria of the whole production… in short, it cost a lot, but it was all worth it.

Everyone seemed tense before the show began. The fools. They probably all feared that the Phantom would show up. The only one that interested him enough to give a personal appearance was Christine, the managers and I knew that well enough. But the police arrived and took position. Box 5 was secured, in case the Phantom would want to show up there.

André nodded to Reyer once the audience fell silent, and the orchestra began playing the first tones of the overture. I nodded to the managers and sat down, slightly uneasy. Gripping my seat, I attempted to relax. It would soon be over.

X X X

A dream come true, that could be a way of describing tonight.

At last, Don Juan would be performed. Finished, perfected, it would now be presented to the world, sung by only the most accomplished of singers, my own student. I endured the rehearsals, watched the giant Italian blob that was Piangi butcher up the part that was never meant to be his, watched Carlotta try to make herself prominent among the chorus and make her role grander than it was.

The toad, I could endure. When she wasn't singing the main role and was only in the chorus, she was passable. However, if there was an utter opposite of Don Juan in the world, it was the fat pig that had been cast. Only because there were no other opinions, however. For now.

I didn't want to interrupt the premiere like this, but there was no other way. Of course, their laughable plan of my capture had been exposed long ago. I had had time to prepare my escape easily. And Christine, who they have so recklessly almost thrown into my arms, will at last be mine. The plan was full proof.

Twirling the stolen engagement ring a bit, I pocketed it. I was already dressed in costume. I made my own version of it, precise to the very last detail. I really hated to cut the fun short… but really, enough was enough. I had no interest in continuing this running around in circles.

The games we've played till now were at an end.

The finishing touches to my visage were added – the black mask was put in place as I observed my miniature model of the stage. All the figures were there. Don Juan, Aminta… Aminta caught my eye for a second as I smiled. Then, taking a lit candle, I lit the fire in the middle of the stage.

My opera was ready to begin.

X X X

I stood off-stage, waiting for my cue. Thus far, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The scenes progressed according to the script, no intervention. Except the initial disgust of the audience, which had turned into shocked awe later on, nothing was unusual.

As Piangi vanished behind the curtain, I took my basket with roses and sang my first two lines in this scene, the biggest scene of the entire opera, where my character, Aminta, was going to be seduced by Don Juan. I only hoped that I would sound better than I did during the rehearsals.

_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy!  
No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!_

I sat down and took out one of the roses. It reminded me unwillingly of the roses I found each day in my dressing room, the only difference being that this one lacked the signature black ribbon that identified the one who sent it. I didn't pay much attention to the events behind me – I wasn't required to sing in this part of the song.

I knew what lines would follow… maybe not by heart, but I knew what Don Juan was supposed to be singing, in general. And the lines began, but I almost punctured my fingers with the rose's thorns. The voice singing them was sweeter than honey, gentler than the wings of angels, yet more seductive than the temptation of a sin.

That voice had haunted me for so long, and now, I knew it wasn't a dream. He was here.

_You have come here  
in pursuit of your deepest urge  
in pursuit of that wish  
which till now has been silent  
silent…_

Don Juan, disguised as Passarino, emerged, but his physique was very different from Piangi´s. As was his voice, as I am certain the audience also noticed. I turned my head slowly, like a young gazelle that had sensed that a lion was watching her every move… and I was right. His mask was black, he was dressed to fit his role, but his eyes, his voice couldn't be mistaken.

Slowly, he placed a finger to his lips as he sang, with the most enigmatic and mysterious smile, and my nerves seemed to explode. Yet all the same, I forgot that I was on-stage, forgot that I was being watched by dozens of people… and slowly, became ensnared.

_I have brought you,  
that our passions may fuse and merge -  
in your mind you've already  
succumbed to me  
dropped all defenses  
completely succumbed to me -  
now you are here with me  
no second thoughts  
you've decided  
decided . . ._

Gracefully twirling the long cape he was wearing out of the way, he approached me, his eyes glittering, as he sang, with the voice of an angel and the seduction of the devil. Don Juan was standing before me, Don Juan in flesh and blood, and I had no will to resist any longer, not as long as he was using weapons I could not defend myself against.

_Past the point of no return -  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played till now are at an end  
Past all thought of "if" or "when" -  
no use resisting:  
abandon thought, and let the dream descend..._

Close to me at last, he almost jumped behind me and grabbed me by the waist, another hand sliding gently down my throat. I forgot the entire world. There was nothing else around us, no one there. And if my mind would have been clear, I would have fully comprehended that this song was meant for me, that he had written it to express all the feelings I had awoken within him.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us ?_

I felt his hands slide down my outstretched arm and for a moment, his hands gripped my weakened fingers, as he gazed upon me with an almost hungry look.

_Past the point of no return,  
the final threshold -  
what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return _

Yet the spell was broken as soon as he let go. I found myself anxiously rearranging my dress, covering my shoulders, which had been exposed moments before. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable, and my eyes traveled to Raoul in his box for a second as I began to sing.

X X X

All was going perfectly. She was alone, defenseless against my voice, my power over her… even looking at the boy didn't help. I also glanced up to his box, an almost mocking look in my eyes. It was my turn to sing to her of love, Monsieur. Of the love that had grown throughout the years, the love that would last beyond my death, for I swore to myself that even though I would be in Hell and Christine in Heaven, I would always be with her, at least in thought.

_You have brought me  
to that moment where words run dry  
to that moment where speech disappears into silence  
silence _

Such perfection! She was Aminta… she was born to play the part. And her voice, slightly unsure at the beginning, grew powerful once she realized her own potential. Each time she opened her mouth, she took my breath away in ways she couldn't imagine. And she wasn't frightened any longer! She wasn't trying to escape…

_I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why  
In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining  
defenseless and silent  
now I am here with you  
no second thoughts_

_I've decided  
decided . . ._

Taking a deep breath, I watched the fire in her eyes reignite itself. We began our ascent up the stairs, not taking a second to blink, watching each other all the time.

_Past the point of no return  
no going back now  
our passion-play has now, at last, begun  
Past all thought of right or wrong_

_one final question:  
how long should we two wait, before we're one?_

_When will the blood begin to race_

_the sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last, consume us?_

Atop of the stairs, facing each other, there could be no doubts that the answer to the last question would be useless moments later.

_  
Past the point of no return  
the final threshold -  
the bridge is crossed_

_so stand and watch it burn  
We've passed the point of no return . .._

And, now with Christine in my tight embrace, I knew that there was indeed no turning back, no avoiding the inevitable, no other choice. I had presented all I am to her… now it was time for the final threshold.

_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

It was the song the boy had sung to her… but I intended to do it justice this time. It was my plea, my desperate plea for her love.

_  
Lead me, save me from my solitude_

Only she had ever heard the music I heard. Only she could save me, since only she understood me.

_Say you want me with you, here beside you_

Christine slowly turned around, and her eyes glittered with tears. Her bottom lip was trembling slightly, her face at loss of what emotion to display first.

_  
Anywhere you go let me go too_

I gripped her small hand in my own, slipping the glamorous engagement ring on her finger. Her other hand rested on what was uncovered on my face in a soft caress-like gesture, but she remained silent.

_Christine that's all I ask of..._

A moment later, all words, all promises, all love… it was worthless. Once more, she had proven herself to be Delilah, Pandora, Eve… and mercilessly, though her eyes showed remorse, she snatched the mask and threw it away.


	18. Chapter 15: Through fire

**Author's notes:** And here we go again… only several chapters left…

X X X

**Chapter 15 – Through fire**

X X X X

Tears burst through the barricade of my willpower the moment I did the horrible thing I knew I must do ever since I understood that I could do it, ever since I discovered that while his voice enchanted me, I had to end this, to regain my sanity. But now, facing his look of grief, disappointment and immense sorrow was too much for me and then and there, I wished to turn back time. Whatever he was, this was not the punishment he deserved.

And those words! The words he said to me before I betrayed him…again! The mystery of his interest in me, his purpose, was beginning to grow clearer, and even my naïve mind was able to get to the reason behind all this… yet I didn't expect this… I didn't. He proposed to me in front of the world, begged me to save him – me, the weak, foolish child that must have inflicted immense wounds upon his soul – from the darkness of the world dozens of feet under the ground.

I knew I would be unable to refuse.

But… my engagement to Raoul… and I knew they were all relying on me… I didn't see any other way out of the situation. Perhaps I could have just finished the song, I don't know, but then, the police would have perhaps shot him, and I didn't want that either.

The intensity of his sadness, broke me. The only thing more intense than the look of heartbreak in his eyes was the wave of anger that pushed it aside to take its place. I knew that fury well… I had faced it the moment I had snatched his mask for the first time. This time, however, there was something more to it. Perhaps because he knew I did it on purpose this time.

Before I knew what was going on, ignoring the yells and screams surrounding us, he whipped a dagger out of nowhere and cut one of the nearest ropes. I didn't know what that was supposed to do, but then a moment later, the whole stage seemed to shake. I didn't have time to find out what caused the sudden vibrations. A second later, he yanked me towards him, gripping me tightly by the waist and before I had time to do anything, I felt the ground disappear.

Floating, falling… how true that was.

X X X

The tears I felt streaming down my face as I watched the disturbing, passionate, fascinating scenes in front of me… when did they start to fall? I don't know. I watched the performance without problems, being quite familiar with the script by now. Still, the grand entry of Don Juan after switching places with Passarino left me more than speechless.

I instantly knew it wasn't Piangi. But before I could do anything, even think of doing anything, the voice reached me. A perfect, flawless voice, soft yet dominant, gentle yet wicked, affectionate yet leering. It was intense, it was seductive – and the man to whom it belonged seemed to fit with it completely, being the complete physical opposite of Piangi.

Speaking of the Italian tenor, his absence was more than suspicious, especially in the middle of the performance. Yet no one seemed to care. I could sense that the whole audience seemed to cease breathing the moment they heard what I did. In short, the voice was perfection… and I had a nagging suspicion I knew to whom it belonged, especially since Christine closed her eyes on-stage.

She looked at me pointedly in the middle of the song­, to warn me… he looked at me to mock me, I'd say. The song ended… and I felt my face was wet with tears. I saw something I didn't want to think of, something I didn't like when they sang along.

And then, Christine revealed his face.

The horror! I now perfectly understood why the man had hidden from the world for so long. Nothing, not even Madame Giry´s narrative couldn't prepare me for the terrible sight that had been exposed to the world, the hideous face that ruined the illusion of the Angel of Music. His face… there are not sufficient words in any of the languages I know to describe it.

I could see a strange mix of anger and grief in the shining eyes and then, quicker than the eye could see, he did something on the bridge and grabbed Christine. Suddenly, they were falling straight into the pit – the "fireplace" in the middle of the scene. And with a whoosh of Christine's skirts, they were gone.

Yet that wasn't all of it, far from it. The giant, splendorous chandelier above us seemed to sway and the horrible sound of thick chains bursting through the ceiling surrounded us. The chandelier wavered and then the mass of lights and crystals began to fall, like a cavalry that had been given the command to charge at the enemy.

I stood up immediately, but there wasn't anything I could do but watch as the deadly weight descended quickly, as if sliding down a giant slide, to the front of the stage. Panicky audience members and orchestra players rushed away, Reyer practically threw himself out of the orchestra pit.

With an almighty crash, the chandelier collided with the stage, collided with the torches illuminating the stage… and a great fire began. I climbed out of my box and slid down a random rope, straight to the ground floor. But I knew I was too late. Christine was gone, the opera was burning… literally. And on the floor, music sheets were burning. Don Juan Triumphant was burning.

I rushed to search for the only person of whom I knew for certain that she would bring me to Christine, or, at least, show me the way – Madame Giry. I spotted her leading her daughter somewhere and quickly ran to her, immediately asking the only question that mattered right now. Hows and whys were useless.

"Where did he take her?"

"Come with me, Monsieur – I will take you to him!" she immediately panted, "But remember – keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"

"I'll come with you!" her daughter said, determined.

"No, Meg, no! You must stay here. Come with me, Monsieur!"

X X X

Gentleness be damned, I dragged Christine through the darkened corridors by force this time, ignoring her feeble attempts to wriggle her hand out of my grasp. Either way, she wouldn't be able to find the way back herself in the dark. She was on the verge of tears, terrified. At a time long past, a happier time, I would have been distraught by that. Now, I couldn't care less.

"Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path down to darkness deep as hell!" I bellowed, ignoring Christine's sobs as I dragged her along.

"Why, you ask, do I live under the ground, why I never surface? This answers your question! My face! My face, Christine! No one would ever view me as a human being, all they did was hunt me like some animal, a beast! Why, Christine? _Why?_" I hissed at her, almost grabbing her by the hair as she stood before me, horrified, now near the life-sized replica of her that showed my dream.

I then grabbed her by her forearm and turned her to the mannequin. "You must change, Christine. The dress should fit you."

"The w-wedding dress?" Christine stuttered, obviously so frightened it was almost a shock she was able to speak at all.

"Why, yes. I daresay it fits the occasion. Go on, go on!" I shoved her into the alcove-like room with the mannequin. "Change." And, resisting any temptation, I closed the curtains immediately, storming down the stairs to sit down.

The rage I felt was wearing off slightly, and I felt no dread at the thought of someone discovering my lair. While I heard the sounds of fabrics being rubbed against each other, I examined once more the sparkling engagement ring that had been on Christine's hand before. It was disgustingly over-decorated.

"Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?" A furious but angelic voice called to me, and I raised my gaze form the jewels. Despite my anger, my breathing stopped for a moment. Christine, dressed in the grand wedding dress, missing only her veil, stood atop of the stairs, the vision of an angel that had dropped out of the sky, burst into the world of mortals and dragged down to hell by the devil.

Slowly approaching, she swallowed nervously, but her voice regained the boldness which she herself obvious didn't feel. "Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?"

"That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood has also denied me the joys of the flesh." I stood up, my hand slowly moving to caress her cheek, but she moved away immediately. "This face, the infection, which poisons our love… this face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing… she was the one who gave me this mask… your pity comes too late!" I growled as her face grew softer for a moment and I immediately placed the wedding veil on her head roughly. "Turn around and face your fate!" Grabbing her by the shoulders again, I turned her to me. "An eternity of this before your eyes!" I roared, pointing at my face.

Then, I immediately slipped the ring on her finger. Christine spared me one look of disbelief before removing the veil and laying it on a nearby surface. "Your face doesn't frighten me anymore." Those words shocked me so much I couldn't speak for a moment. It had been my one hope, my one dream that perhaps one day, she wouldn't fear my face anymore. And now… "It's your soul. That's where the true distortion lies. I fear your soul."

For a moment, I lowered my gaze, like a child caught lying. Yes, my soul wasn't completely without its scars. The world had shunned me, no one treated me like they would treat a human being, everyone feared me… that leaves scars. Ever since I discovered that the mirror wasn't magical, that what I saw there was reality, I knew I would be scarred inwardly throughout my life.

This, however, left a deep gash. Not of pain, no… of much more. She knew me better than she expected, than I had expected… she didn't hate me because I was ugly, but because I was cruel. But I couldn't help it. I am obsessed with her – obsessed from the moment I found an angel wandering through the withering world.

But something alerted me to the presence of another… and, turning away at last, I smiled a twisted smile. "Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest!"

X X X

"This is as far as I dare go." Madame Giry said suddenly when we reached the first third of the spiral staircase. It seemed to go on forever, down into the darkness. The ancient tapestries on the walls seemed to blow in an unnatural wind, and the whole place had a strange aura to it.

I nodded to the ballet mistress and proceeded down the stairs quickly, holding my hand up as she had instructed me to do. Moments after I rid myself of the jacket that might be hindering in combat, I felt the floor give away underneath me. I fell… and I plunged into ice-cold water dozens of feet below.

The trap was sprung immediately – metal bars rushed down to crush me, to pin me to the ground while I would suffocate and drown. Yet the rusted wheel I found there showed me the way out of the mess and with an effort, soaked, I managed to get through one of the small passageways.

I don't know how long I have wondered in the darkness. I searched for any sign of Christine or her captor, but all I found was a vast lake that I knew was – or used to be - part of the Seine. Then, in the distance, I saw the dots of light that could have been motionless fireflies, but I recognized them as candles. I galloped through the water until I reached a portcullis – metal bars that parted me from what seemed to be a cave.

A well furnished cave.

I saw a magnificent organ, statues that had amazing detail, candelabras of the highest expense and other furniture worthy of royalty. Then there were music sheets, various instruments – an orchestra could have been practicing here with ease, and there would still be spare instruments. A gondola-like boat with a light attached to it was docked in a small bank near the shore… feet from it stood Christine, clad in a white dress… a wedding dress. And then, less than two feet from her was _him_, still half in costume.

"Sir!" he called to me, his voice light, despite the strange situation.

"Raoul!" Christine shrieked.

"This is indeed an unparalleled delight!" he added, as if uninterrupted, and pulled Christine towards him with ease, to mock me. "I had rather hoped that you would come! And now, my wish comes true! You have truly made my night!"

"Free her!" I called. I didn't care what he did to me, as long as he released Christine. "Do what you like, only free her! Have you no pity?"

Somehow, I could hear every word he said to Christine. "Your lover makes a passionate plea." He said with mock concern and awe.

"Please, Raoul – it's useless." Christine called to me, looking defeated, instead of answering him.

"I love her!" I called, desperate to find some means of persuading him. After all, he had the upper hand down here, in his own private realm. "Does that mean nothing! I love her!" Playing the last card I could see, I added: "Show some compassion!" Surely someone who had been shunned by the world would know the meaning of that word?

I was wrong. It enraged it further and, ignoring Christine for a moment, knowing she had nowhere to flee, he snarled: "The world showed no compassion to me!" and it was true, no deception, no lies… I knew. I understood, at that moment, why he was obsessed with Christine so. I understood why she wore the wedding dress. Yet…

"Christine! Christine! Let me see her!" I called.

With a light shrug, he turned to a lever nearby that no one else had noticed. "Be my _guest_, sir."

The portcullis rose and I entered – I was shivering, but determined, and I looked at Christine to see if she was alright. She seemed terrified, but unhurt. The portcullis dropped again behind me, like the door of a prison closing, and our torturer approached me with the same light and yet mocking voice.

"Monsieur, my dear Monsieur! I bid you welcome in my humble home! You think she is harmed? No! You thought I would harm an angel? No, no, Monsieur! She has no reason to pay… I intend to punish _you_!"

And, before I could even do anything, before I could remember the wise words of Madame Giry, a thin lasso, like a snake that obeyed its master's command, wrapped itself around my throat tightly, choking me. I saw Christine gasp loudly, but she was helpless. Tears of pain rushed to my eyes and all seemed to go black for a second before I saw that I was being tied to the portcullis tightly.

"Order your fine horses now!" His voice floated mockingly all around me, taunting the moments when Christine and I promised love to each other. "Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes!" The words of Madame Giry, the ones that circulated the opera daily, were also mocked shamelessly. "_Nothing _can save you now! Except… perhaps Christine!" I could see him turn back to my pale fiancée, who was still standing on the banks of the lake.

I didn't know how Christine could save me now. She was brave, yes, but she didn't have the strength to fight him… not alone. She had weapons I didn't that she could use against him, but in this situation, I thought even that was useless. But then, looking at her, in that dress, an idea came to me… a terrifying idea…that became true a second later.

"Start a new life with me! Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and you send your lover to his death! _This_ is the choice. _This is the point of no return!"_


	19. Chapter 16: Embrace

**Author's notes:** This is not the end, people! An epilogue is in the works, from a completely unique point of view! I shall be thanking all reviewers in that chapter, but don't expect it that soon! Anyway, to all of you who were trying hard to guess who she chooses – you shall find out now! I tried not to make the end sappy, hopefully it's believable, if not, tell me and I shall change it.

Anyway, I'm going singing on Friday, to pick up a new song, don't know what it's going to be, but I'll probably be singing Adrianna from Dracula (a Czech version, so I doubt any of you know it, but that's the Countess, so I like the part very much, even though she dies at childbirth. If you want a synopsis of that version, just ask).

I'll risk a few responses:

**Morleigh** – it had to end there to be dramatic! Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you like this one!

**Nota Lone** – merci ;-D

**EriksIngenue** – good luck. Found any? I hope not – I tried to make this as evasive as possible when it came to that question. Heh, I'm not sorry you're nervous – it shows how much you like this. Here is the update

**Mominator** – yes, evil! I have to be! What did you expect, a happy ending with no demasking? (shakes head)

**Lady Karol** – thank you very much, I try to do my best with this story. Thanks, I've had luck

**Tara **– well, that was the original idea, but then I decided it would be cool to try to write Erik, and I got into his shoes so well I abandoned the first concept. I'm not sure if I'll be doing that, though. This phic was quite tough to write. If you want ECness from Christine´s POV, try my phic Meant to Be.

**Enrinye **- ;-)

**Twinkle22 **– thanks, here's more!

**All That Remains** – don't worry bout that.

X X X

**Chapter 16 - Embrace**

X X X X

It was truly the point of no return. On her choice, a human life depended. And it would be best if she would decide quickly, for my patience was running thin. After all the expectations, hopes and disappointments, I grew tired of our petty games. All the things and events surrounding this choice vanished and it was exposed as what it truly was – a decision between me and him, one final, permanent choice.

Despite the rope in my hands, my eyes were fixed on Christine, because for the first time, I was quite certain that the Vicomte de Chagny was completely harmless. But Christine didn't seem frightened for her fiancé anymore. Rather… disappointed and… angry.

"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate… grow cold and turn to tears of hate!" she cried, her last word sharp, sharp enough to pierce my heart like a well-aimed arrow, though the archer was theoretically unarmed.

Lowering my gaze for a split second, I stormed towards her, seemingly, but what I sought was another rope, another lasso, this time to emphasize my point that I wasn't scared of killing the boy, should she hesitate for too long. Christine´s eyes followed me, her beautiful face still enraged.

"Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity!" I spat at her, without looking at her longer than a few seconds.

"Farewell, my fallen idol and false friend!" Christine cried, "We had such hopes but now those hopes are shattered… one by one my illusions vanished!"

"Past all hope of cries for help: no point in fighting! Either way you choose, you cannot win!" I spat, too busy fastening the lasso around the Vicomte´s throat.

"Either way you choose, he has to win!" the boy shouted a split second later, almost as if reading my mind. Yes, either way, Christine remained with me. If she would choose to stay, she would stay willingly. If she would refuse, the boy would die, and she would have nowhere else to go.

"So, do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave?" I asked, tightening the lasso as I spoke the last word, but it didn't stop the boy's ridiculous courage… or stupidity, whatever you choose to call it.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" he hissed, his voice slightly hindered by the lasso. I didn't answer.

"Angel of Music…" Christine begged.

But I had no ears for her false pleas. "Past the point of no return!"

"For pity's sake, Christine, say no!" the Vicomte called desperately to her.

"... the final threshold…"

"…why this torment?"

"Don't throw your life away for my sake!"

"His life is now the prize which you must earn!"

"Why do you curse mercy…?"

"I fought so hard to free you ..." the Vicomte whispered, with his last strength, it seemed.

"You've passed the point of no return ..." I finished, uncompromising.

"Angel of Music…" Christine began again, but she wasn't pleading anymore. "You deceived me." She was saying it plainly, like a child that had discovered that she had been promised sweets and given something else. "I gave you my mind blindly…"

But I didn't have the patience for this… she had given her mind freely, and I was growing angrier at her indecisiveness. "You try my patience. Make your choice."

X X X

"You try my patience. Make your choice."

He spoke in far harsher tones that before – he had never spoken to me like that. I knew then that I had crossed some invisible line, that I had to act now, before he would decide to kill Raoul anyway. Looking at my captive of a fiancé, I managed a sad slight smile and mouthed three words of farewell to him. He had to know that before I would do what I knew I must do.

Ignoring the fact that my dress would get slightly soaked, I walked straight into the icy waters of the underground lake. It was very cold, but nothing physical could stop me now. I have decided… decided…

"Pitiful creature of darkness…" I began softly, approaching with each syllable. "What kind of life have you known?" He relaxed his grip on the lasso a bit and his face seemed to soften slightly. "God give me courage to show you…" Within feet of him, I put the engagement ring I had been given back on my finger. "You are not alone!"

Somehow, I felt my lips form a genuine smile… somehow, at that moment, I realized just how beautiful he was.

Part of me expected the sensation already known to me – the soft tickling of gentle affection. Yet this was like a plunge into the deepest waters of the darkest ocean. I could swear my eyes stopped working for a moment, though I had them closed, and then, with a flash of light, I saw stars the moment he seemed to grow certain that it wasn't a dream, that I was indeed kissing him, and that I wasn't afraid anymore. The moment I felt a reaction to my own boldness.

For a moment, it was too much, and I had to pull back… yet I had to make things up to him for an entire lifetime, and I was up to the task. Without drawing a breath, I pressed my swollen lips once more to his, this time almost immediately feeling that while afraid of this new sensation, he wasn't pulling away from me.

As I released him after what seemed ages, I looked at him… only to see him crying. The show of affection was perhaps too much for him and he wasn't prepared for it… or… something deeper. And before I knew it, he looked away from me and walked away as well, his head lowered, like a man who had been defeated.

"Take her, forget me, forget all of this!"

X X X

"Leave me alone - forget all you've seen ..." My voice, once strong, was now just a shadow of its former glory only mere minutes ago on the stage. I was letting her go… "Go now - don't let them find you!" She kissed me… the wonderful, beautiful, celestial angel lowered herself to kiss a demon… and then I realized that I simply couldn't myself to be as selfish as to condemn her to a life in darkness.

"Take the boat – swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the Angel in Hell!" I saw her untying her boy, but I knew I mustn't interrupt it. She was a creature of the day… whereas I belonged to the night.

"Go now - go now and leave me!" I bellowed at them, retreating to the room that was supposed to have been Christine´s.

There, on the table, stood a small music box with a figurine on it. A monkey in Persian robes… one of my early creations, but it was a wonderful memory. Yet the song it played was not at all unknown to me and even less desired to hear. Nevertheless, I sang along.

_Masquerade_

_Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you..._

While consumed by my little dreamworld, a world where the angry shouts of "Track down this murderer" "Revenge" and "monster" couldn't reach my ears, I remained aware of the surroundings enough to be able to tell that I was being watched. Looking up from the little music box, I saw an angel once more.

She was standing half in shadow, but I could see her large eyes full of pity and regret. I knew I must have looked very miserable, not to mention that my face was unmasked, easy for her to see… not that it could be easily overlooked.

Christine, the vision out of a dream, returned… to say goodbye? Could I give her up a second time? It was a risk she had chosen to take. She seemed to be at loss of words, but refused to leave until she would say what she wanted to say. I, however, knew what I could say. The only thing that I knew I could not tell her.

Not that it would be a lie, God forbid that! It was a greater truth than that that the sun rises each day. Yet now, after realizing what is best for her, I knew I must say it, lest I will regret it forever.

My voice wasn't shaking anymore, yet it was still less than strong, and I spoke the three words that had sounded over and over in my mind whenever I saw her, spoke to her, heard her sing, whenever I thought of her… and now, after years, the time to speak them had finally come on its own accord.

"Christine, I love you ..."

Her lips parted slightly, as if a gasp wanted to escape them, but none came, not even the slightest sigh. I suppose that deep down inside, she always knew that I loved her… perhaps she only didn't realize that love had many forms.

Angels didn't know love. But I am no angel.

From loving her voice, to loving her as a student, to loving her as a child I had taken under my protection, to, at last, loving her and her alone. Loving her as an angel sent from heaven, an angel sent to brighten the lives of mortals in the form of a child who matured into a beautiful young lady.

Christine was panting silently, but stopped as she slowly walked towards me, for the second time this evening. I myself was surprised. Perhaps I hoped that she would kiss me once more. She had kissed me! And she didn't die, she wasn't disgusted! She treated me like a living being, like a person, not like a monster.

She treated me like a man worthy of love.

The first touch of humanity I had ever received in my life, strong enough to show me that even I had some humanity left within me, however strongly my conscious self seemed to automatically deny it. It came as a natural reaction to the reactions of the world to me, I suppose. But now… now I felt defenseless.

Christine knelt in front of me, shoving her skirts out of the way and looked up at me, evidently almost as helpless as I was. After a brief moment, she drew a breath. "I know nothing of you except that… but I…" she blinked and closed her eyes for a moment. When she spoke again, she was looking at me once more. "I believe... know… that I don't want to forget."

"And what do you want, Christine?" I asked, in an almost childishly surprised, quiet voice.

She didn't smile, but there was sincerity in her eyes. "To show you that you are not alone. I… I want to stay." She said quietly, as if not believing her own boldness. Her eyes read those three words I had been gathering the courage to say for years, but also the surprise from the sudden realization and the fear of them.

In the distance, only a sad, quiet song interrupted the great silence between us.

_Say you'll share with me, one love, one lifetime ..._

_say the word and I will follow you ..._

_Share each day with me ..._

_... each night ..._

_... each morning ..._

Christine broke the silence. "Shall I repeat those words for you?" she whispered.

I didn't dare question her, I didn't dare think. I didn't dare do anything, lest it would break the wonderful dream that was becoming reality around me. I slowly took her by the hand and she rose slightly, still timid in her expression, but her eyes determined.

"Not those very words." I whispered to her, "I shall write songs for you… songs for us. You alone can make my song take flight…"

"Then I embrace the music of the night." Christine said and, for a moment, wrapped her arms around me.


	20. Epilogue

**Author's notes:** Here is the Epilogue – the final part of this phanphic. I'd officially like to thank all of you guys for your support, encouragement, and praise – it means a lot to me, and I think I gained a lot of experience with this phic. I might do an alternative version of the ending – the movie ending – but don't bet on it. One of the 3 phics I'm writing is over, but be sure to read the other two, I'd like to know what you think.

This Epilogue is short, but I really couldn't think of anything else to say, because the scenes are so brief, and there's only so much you can say about the character's thoughts. Anyway, unique POV now, but I'm certain you'll recognize who it is soon enough.

A big thanks goes to Enrinye, for her enthusiasm, nagging when the next chapter will be posted and insane but creative ideas.

_broadwaydreams4ever, pheebe the anonomus comentor w, kayadcpandora, Miss Daae, EriksIngenue, longblacksatinlace, EriksIngenue, Gypsy, Mina, erikfan, All That Remains, starnat, lady kathrin, EriksSylvia, light barrer, Phan, Mini Nicka, phantomphan85, Mademoiselle Phantom, ElfPrincess94, Maidenhair, squishmich, DarkMoonLightBright, Twinkle22, Mominator, Morleigh, Tara, Lady Karol, Nota Lone_ – I love you all! (I hope I got everyone).

X X X

**Epilogue**

X X X X

I am in the air.

Only for a few short moments, though. Only until, with a loud splash, I land in the icy waters of what seems to be the mix of a gutter and an underground lake. It's really cold, but I don't mind it that much. Tonight had been to fiery for my taste anyway, so a bit of the opposite isn't exactly unwelcome.

Quickly, I rush through the water, only my instinct guiding me. I have only ever been as far as a few steps down the first corridor, but back then, it was dark and now, my way is illuminated by dozens of torches of those behind me, who are as eager as I to finally find our way.

We expected traps – even finding a door to the underground was hard, and now, searching the labyrinth of corridors and pillars is very hard. However, we are all able to tell that the statues surrounding us, the carvings in the walls… the decorative elements around us… weren't meant for the eyes of anyone but the Phantom, who must have made this place his own realm.

All my life, I have been hearing tales of the Phantom of the Opera, the height of mystique in the Opera Populaire, and tonight, I was descending to his own private domain, attempting to find his lair. And those behind me were also determined to capture and imprison him… not without reason, I believe. Still, I don't truly believe he is an evil creature… well, not as evil as he was described by the now deceased Joseph Buquet.

The man we have watched tonight showed us first unearthly beauty and then inhuman ugliness… in a strange way, I felt pity. I didn't see how anyone could live with such a horrible face, and I didn't even see him that up close.

I rush even more when I think of Christine. My poor friend! She had been kidnapped, dragged down here… for what reason, I can only guess, but I suppose it had something to do with her engagement to the Vicomte and the fact that in his notes, the Phantom always seemed to be very protective of her. Her talent is obvious, that much is certain, but it was still a bit too overeager protectiveness…

The Angel of Music! What a simple deception. I cannot pretend I haven't been suspicious about this business. It was strange from the beginning, from the moment Christine mentioned it, I thought something was wrong. Angels stay in Heaven… and I thought it might just be her daydream, her fantasy… or something darker and more dangerous.

Unfortunately, the second option proved to be reality.

I should have gone down with Maman and the Vicomte. Maman had disappeared somewhere and the Vicomte did not return… and neither did Christine. We could only hope that neither of them ended up like Piangi, who had been found backstage moments after the chandelier fell, a thin, slippery lasso, like a silvery snake, wrapped around his neck with expertise.

His eyes were dead… he had been strangled.

In the distance, I saw a gigantic portcullis… and then… I gasped silently. I had been expecting … something… but what appeared before me was…incredible.

It was well-known that the opera ghost got a gigantic salary each month from the managers. I don't think I have ever seen and will ever see a more wonderful room than the one that appeared in front of us. The effect wasn't even ruined by the coolness of the cave.

The rich Persian carpets, magnificent ebony musical instruments, most monumental of them the beautiful organ that seemed to be an altar to music, curtains made of the finest fabrics… and, everywhere, music sheets. From every corner of the lair, neatly piled papers stuck out, from copies of Don Juan Triumphant to simple tunes for one instrument.

And then, for all of us to see, mirrors… baroque-style golden-framed mirrors… all broken. Shattered shards of glass on the floor.

I felt sadness at that sight.

But no one was near, I could sense that. The rest of the crowd that rushed in behind me probably knew as well, since they all bore looks of surprise. I rushed to the shore to check. Around me, there was only beauty.

A mannequin that had Christine's face was stored in one small room. Only then did I notice that all around me, there were pictures of Christine. Christine sleeping, Christine brushing her hair, Christine singing… a miniature model of the stage, complete with a chandelier… and little figurines of each of the characters. Surprise crossed my face when I saw a miniature of myself among the models. The two in front were Don Juan and Aminta, the two that had the most detail.

There were dolls from other productions there – Il Muto, Hannibal… each with removable heads, I noticed, so that the parts could be switched. Costume designs, prop models… and masks.

All around me, there were masks, almost each the same model – a luminous white half-mask for the right half of the face. The black mask of Don Juan was on one of the figurines and I realized with a slight shock that the full "Red Death" costume and mask was on a figurine nearby.

I entered what seemed to be one of the main rooms of the "house", a room with a beautiful peacock… or swan, I didn't have time to see… bed. There were no signs of…anything! Except…

I rushed to one of the tables and crouched. There was a mask there… perhaps indistinguishable from the others, but this one seemed special. This one wasn't on a mannequin or figurine – it was likely the Phantom had just taken it off. All signaled that he had left. But without his mask? I frowned slightly… and then I noticed it.

A single red rose, with a black ribbon neatly tied around it, was lying next to where the mask had been, simple, pure, untouched… explaining everything. For a moment, I remained there, looking at the mask I now held in my hand with a strange mixture of pity, surprise, and content.

The little music box nearby – a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals – began to play, and I looked at it curiously for a second. Then, still holding the mask, I moved to search the rest of the house. The treasures here had to be preserved, not destroyed, as a final altar to the Angel of Music, who had returned to Heaven when he found his other half.

And as the monkey plays the last note of its quiet song, in my mind, I realize that only one song of the music of the night had ended.

X X X

_**Fin**_


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